#but sitting in the cold and being hit with sand is not a good time no matter whose company I'm keeping | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koenigami · 8 days ago

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fucking finally. tags : pure fluff, fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers trope wc : 1,5k synopsis : one single word is sometimes enough to change everything a/n : oh how i missed writing for my baby boy

"Come on, set for me!" Bokuto's heavy arm hooks around your neck as he pulls you into his side, the grown man looking at you with big bright puppy eyes. "Pleeaaase, Y/n."

You sigh at his antics, and eye the net across the street. Initially, this was supposed to be a calm evening walk with your best friend after you had picked him up from practice. Yet, you must admit that it is your own fault for thinking that you can combine the words "calm" and "Bokuto" in one coherent sentence. The weak smile you offer him as you exhale defeatedly is enough for him to sprint over to the sand volleyball court, and pull a ball out of his duffle bag.

He guides you to the other side of the net, enthusiastically explaining how to toss him the ball, how to dig it once he hits it, reminding you to keep a proper stance -

You scoff. As if you haven’t spent half of your free time observing him like a hawk during games and practices. You wouldn’t call yourself good at volleyball per se, but for an amateur you’re not too bad either.

And so your little play time goes on like this for a little while, the ball flying back and forth between the both of you. And before you know it the sun has almost set, painting the sky in a reddish orange hue.

"Kou, it’s getting late. I think we should head home." You tilt your head as you pout at him, stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. You'd be lying if you said that you weren't a little out of breath.

"Hm? Don’t tell me you’re already tired." He grins mischievously. You know what he’s doing, because if there’s something worse than his puppy eyes, than it is him using your ego against you. He watches you flip him off before you get back into position as he mumbles to himself. “That’s my girl.”

The dull sound of Bokuto’s palm slapping against the ball sounds through the empty court as you watch it hurtle towards you at a speed that you usually only get to witness from the sidelines. With the little reflexes that you have, you manage to duck and dodge the ball. It whizzes past your ear like a bullet before it slams into the sand, right before the end line.

Besides the few birds chirping and cars passing by, you don’t hear any other noise as you stare at him, shock clearly written all over your face. "Damn." Bokuto rubs the back of his head sheepishly, a nervous smile stretched over his face. He fucked up. "What a service ace, huh?"

And that’s it for you. The exhaustion that you’ve been feeling after such a long day turns into irritation, and you don’t even offer him a last glance when you simply turn around and stomp off.

"Shit." He quickly gathers his stuff and hurries after you, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he clumsily makes his way across the sand. Were you always this fast? "Y/n, wait. I swear, I didn't realise I hit it that hard!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him deflate visibly when he eventually catches up with you. He pleads for your attention, to look at him as he talks to you and apologizes, or at least acknowledge his presence. Yet you simply look ahead of you and do none of those things as you keep a petty pout on your face. All while trying to ignore his way too adorable face.

"Oh, come on. I said I was sorry." He all but nearly whines while he wildly gesticulates with his arms as if to prove his point. Something about the way you're ignoring him doesn't sit right with him. If it were anyone else, he'd probably laugh about it but when it comes to you? Bokuto's not sure how to explain it to himself but your cold shoulder feels like a bullet wound in his chest. You, who always laughs at his silly antics and remarks. You, whom he has the best insider jokes with. You, who has never made him feel like being too much.

"Babe!"

It slips out of his mouth, and he briefly has to check his surroundings to make sure that he's not in a fever dream. Because why the heck would he say that? His wide eyes fall to his hand and the way it shakes the slightest bit before he cards it through his hair and down his face. All those years, he managed to keep his silly little crush at bay, since having you as a friend in his life is better than not at all. Yet, all it took was one single slip up to ruin everything.

He fails to notice that you have long since frozen in place, the gears inside your head turning as you wondered whether you might have heard him wrong. You have not.

"What was that?" His eyes are focused on the ground beneath him, though he can't help but cringe as he clearly discerns the teasing and mischievous smile in your voice. Of course you won't let him off that easy.

"What was what?" He laughs nervously, rubs the back of his neck, and you notice how his eyes seem to wander without ever meeting yours. All your previous annoyance has faded away at the sight of Bokuto standing there, nervously playing with the cords on his hoodie, and reminding you a little of his younger self.

You bite back the growing smile on your face as you walk back towards him and step into his field of vision, not giving him a chance to escape you. Because something inside you decides that this is probably the only chance you'll get.

Your heels raise off the ground as you lean over towards him. So close to him, you notice how good he smells. He must have taken a quick shower after practice. Warm, a little prickly from the light stubble along his jaw, and so so right. That's how the short peck you give him feels before you're already walking backwards with a bright grin on your face while eyeing his shocked expression.

A laugh bubbles up your throat when you see realisation hit him of what you just did. Yet you don't expect him to recover so quickly, because your laugh soon dies down as he shoots you his own challenging grin before taking slow tentative steps towards you.

Then you run.

Your hear his loud stomps as he's immediately on your feet while calling out to you, boasting about how you can't just do something like that and run away, about how he's going to get you, that you can't run forever. And you know that you can't. You've tried for so long to escape your feelings, and this time it seems like you failed big time. And apparently so did he.

"Kou, wait no!-" Shrieks and giggles sound through the almost completely empty street once he catches up with you right in front of your apartment building. His hands wander all over your sides, your stomach, your neck- Once Bokuto ceases his tickling assault, there's nothing left but the sound of your quick breaths, chests heaving quickly while you both just stare at each other with adoration, longing, relief. So many emotions and neither of you is sure what to do with them.

"Shit, I think my heart's going to jump out of my chest." He admits with a sheepish chuckle, and grasps your hands as he guides it up to his chest. Your palm slides over the soft fabric, and then you feel it. It's beating so fast that you wonder whether it should worry you. "Can I-"

His words die on his tongue as the tiny little voice of reason inside his head tells him that it might be too early. Maybe it's neither the time nor the place, and another tinier voice in his head, called insecurity, tells him that you're just playing with him, that-

And for the second time that evening, you take his breath away when you mould your lips against his, ever so softly and gently as if you yourself were testing the waters and making sure that this is truly something you both mutually want. But his eagerness is proof enough. His tongue leaves a wet trail along your lower lip while his hands grip your waist tightly in a way that makes it seem as if he was scared that you'd slip through his hands and disappear forever into nothingness.

Only when your lungs start to burn with the lack of oxygen, you eventually part, still so out of breath yet maybe a little more maddly in love than before.

"So- babe, huh?" You tilt your head and speak so quietly as if you were telling him a secret. His fingers smooth down your hair, trying to tame the strands that have been messed up by the wind, and during his little attack.

"Oh, you have no idea." Bokuto rasps, his nose wrinkles the slightest bit as he shoots you a handsome grin before his lips find their way on yours again. He's finally got you, and he's sure to never let you go.

#bokuto koutarou #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto x reader #hq bokuto #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x you #koutarou bokuto #haikyuu x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto drabble #haikyuu fluff

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love-hs28 · 6 months ago

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Catch me if I fall

Summary: You learn the hard way that alcohol and an empty stomach don’t work well together, and adding partying to that mix was probably not a good idea. Don’t worry though, JJ is there to catch you when you fall. CW: Reader passes out & alcohol is present gn!reader A little routledge!reader but it doesn't effect the story Comfort 1.2k words Posted on: 5-25-24

Enjoy!! As always, pls leave requests for me :)

You and the group were at a party one night at the boneyard, as usual. There’s people all around; kooks, 'tourons' as JJ likes to call them, and of course, pogues. The music is loud and people are dancing, especially Kie, Sarah, and you. JJ and John B are standing by the fire talking with some friends and Pope is flirting with a girl nearby, or at least, trying to. JJ occasionally glances over at you girls and smiles at you and your horrible dancing. There’s not a person in sight who doesn’t have a red cup or beer bottle in their hands, and everyone is having the time of their lives.

After a while, you guys get tired of jumping around and decide to go sit by the water where there’s less people to try and cool off. You sit in the sand next to Kie while Sarah runs up to one of her old friends. You silently watch the water and the moon and just relax.

Again, after sitting for a while, the two of you get up and head back to the boys. You can feel the alcohol hitting now, even though you didn’t have a lot, and can feel the effects of it being in your stomach without any food. You hadn’t eaten hardly anything all day, and you were now beginning to regret that accidental decision.

You, Kie, and Sarah go and sit on a log next to Pope and the two girls tease him about his flirting skills, or lack thereof, and you stare off into the fire and feel yourself getting dizzy.

You can’t tell exactly what you feel like, but it’s not good. You need to leave. You need JJ.

You get up to walk towards him; he’s still talking to people with JB. You grab his sleeve and he turns to you and smiles.

“Hey pretty,” Once he sees the look on your face though, his eye brows crease and he holds onto your arms. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I don't - I don’t feel very good,” You mumble, starting to feel like if you don’t grasp onto his arm you’ll fall over.

JJ’s face gets more worried and he leans down to your level to talk more privately. “Are you okay? Have you eaten anything today?”

You shake your head and hold onto his arm tighter, starting to feel more dizzy. “Just th- just the granola bar you gave me. But I really don’t feel good, I just, I think I wanna - I need to go home.”

JJ quickly nods and hands John B his drink, who now has his own concerned look on his face and asks what’s wrong. JJ shakes his head and puts an arm around your waist as you continue to hold onto him.

“She just needs some air. I’m gonna take her home.”

John B nods and tosses JJ the keys; he trusts him to take care of you.

JJ starts to lead you both towards the twinkie but you stop walking after a few steps.

“What? What’s wrong? You okay?”

You turn into him and tighten your grip on his shirt, shaking your head. You suddenly feel a rush of cold go through your body, and the next thing you know, you’re passing out and falling into him.

“Shit, fuck. John B! Get over here!” JJ holds you and lowers you to the ground.

Thankfully, you’d gotten far enough away as to not draw attention for a crowd, but not too far where John B couldn’t hear you. He immediately turns his head and rushes over when he sees JJ kneeling on the sand next to your limp body. Kie, Sarah, and Pope notice John B running and once they see what’s happened, they’re quick to follow.

John B kneels beside you and brushes your hair out of your face to get a better look.

“What’s going on?” Kiara hurriedly asks as she kneels down next to you to get a closer look. Sarah sets her hands on John B’s shoulder’s and Pope kneels next to JJ.

“I don’t know! She just - we were walking and she just passed out! I was gonna take her home, she said she wasn’t feeling good, I didn’t - I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know this was gonna happen.”

JJ breathes heavily and the worried look on his face only grows heavier. John B puts a hand on the side of your face and shakes his head.

“It’s okay, she’s okay. This happens sometimes, when she forgets to eat or drink or just gets overworked. She should wake up in a few minutes. Sar, could you grab her a water, though? She should have it when she wakes up.”

Sarah quickly nods her head and runs over to a cooler by a group of people, returning a few seconds later with a cold water bottle. This is when you start to wake up.

After falling, the next thing you know and remember is slowly opening your eyes, seeing everyone looking down at you.

“Oh thank god,” You hear JJ sigh, and he brushes the hair out of your face.

You groan and John B helps you slowly sit up and lean against JJ’s chest.

“What happened?” you murmur.

JB shakes his head and rubs your arm. “You passed out, but you’re okay, JJ got you before you could fall and hurt yourself.”

You haphazardly grab JJ’s hand and weakly squeeze it, silently thanking him.

“Are you okay?” Pope asks, and Sarah hands you the water. You nod.

“I think so.” Your hands are shaky as you try to open the water, so JJ gently grabs it from you and helps you slowly take a drink.

“You scared the shit out of me, Y/n.”

You softly smile and rub your thumb against his hand. “I’m okay, Jay. Thanks for helping me.”

He nods and shakes his head while rubbing a hand across his face, clearly stressed out. You start to try and stand up and Kie grabs your hand to help. JJ puts an arm around your waist, holding and supporting you tight.

“I’m okay, Jay,” you smile up at him and kiss his cheek. He blushes a bit and softly laughs.

“I know. Just wanna be safe.”

John B looks you over for a second. “You’ll be okay if JJ takes you home?”

You nod and brush some sand off your legs. “Yeah, of course.”

Everyone nods and after checking one more time, they head back to the party. JJ helps you get to the van and aids you in getting into the passenger side to finally take you home. He’s extra gentle with you the whole night, and doesn’t rest until he’s positive that you’re comfortable and sound asleep next to him.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed!! I've been on a obx kick recently with summer coming up, so expect more JJ content to come and PLS send your requests!! Love ya <3

xoxo

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj maybank comfort #jj maybank x reader comfort #obx imagine #jj maybank imagine #obx fanfic #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank #jj x reader #rudy pankow #jj maybank x gn!reader comfort #jj maybank x gn!reader imagine #jj maybank x gn!reader fanfic #jj maybank x gn!reader fic #jj maybank x gn!reader fluff

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jolalibrary · 2 years ago

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had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain.

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit.

But, at home, it’s refreshing.

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next.

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called.

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices.

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat.

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather.

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts.

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them.

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness.

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock.

Short. Deliberate.

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door.

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them.

Only to see him.

“Ghost?”

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face.

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.

“You lettin’ me in?”

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it.

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks.

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second.

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.”

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was.

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back.

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?”

“Not sure.”

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain.

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper.

As if it’s so rarely ever said.

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything.

He’s Ghost.

Silent. Quiet, Ghost.

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound.

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?”

Silence.

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.”

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.”

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to.

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.”

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him.

But you’re more nervous.

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is.

Him being here.

And yet, not that odd at all.

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him.

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit.

“There’s more gravy… just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add.

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show.

And then, he says, “It’s nice.”

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly.

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.”

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table.

“It’s not what I expected.”

“You’ve thought about my place?”

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down.

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward.

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement.

“You were closer.”

Oh.

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason.

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months…

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat.

“I had to see if you were okay.”

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately.

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat.

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue.

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you.

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Had to be sure.”

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.”

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.

“Tea?” you ask.

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort.

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it.

Shit.

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand.

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him.

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between.

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it.

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down.

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room.

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes.

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again.

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost.

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm.

“What?”

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’.

You forget how good he is at reading people.

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle.

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart.

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat.

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.”

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk.

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you.

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.”

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.”

“How then?”

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit.

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.”

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name.

Your real name.

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier.

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?”

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense.

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?”

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you.

He’s silent.

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it.

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.”

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure.

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination.

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.”

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.”

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape.

Go back.

Go back to him.

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You.

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak.

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again.

His hoodie is gone.

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin.

“Tell me to go back to your living room.”

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side.

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again.

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined.

“Words, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you.

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.”

Speechless, your lips part.

Yes. Please, yes.

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality.

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough.

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips.

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed.

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough.

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?”

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for.

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up.

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.”

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it.

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do.

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you.

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks.

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him.

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back.

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big.

Almost too big.

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans.

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers.

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him.

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side.

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours.

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you.

“I want you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds.

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.”

“Simon…”

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched.

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you.

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows.

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.”

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom.

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design.

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care.

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe.

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move.

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building.

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.”

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.”

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart?

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.”

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.”

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost riley #cod ghost x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x you #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost angst #cod ghost smut #ghost smut

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sonotkari · 3 months ago

Text

Saturn

Hanni Pham x Fem Reader

[ Synopsis ]

Listening to Saturn by Sza has made you think about many things since your last (not-so) relationship, and Hanni is on your side, listening to you yapping your thoughts.

Fluff, Angst, and a tiny bit of cursing :)

[ Word Count ]

1.5k yes it's very very short :(

[ a/n ]

I've been listening to a lot of songs lately and the idea just popped out when I was listening to Sza! It's really cheesy like, really, might be too tacky but oh well :P My first time writing this kind of stuff so it's a mess but do please take it easy on me guys /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ (i suck at writing honestly)

I hope someone out there likes it dis for u bae <3

You've spent your entire year, loving someone. As the "giving it all" type of persona when it comes to relationships even when it's as small as a crush, you really gave it your all. Praising them the chance you got to, making sure to spend lots of quality time together, presenting gifts for no particular reason just because you enjoyed seeing the smile that appeared on their face with the cute little dimple on their cheeks which was one of the many things you liked- no, loved about them.

But maybe it was a little too much or perhaps it was something else. You eventually got tired of pursuing them after a year. Feeling more and more drained as the days passed and feeling that both of your distances hadn't moved an inch, you were debating a lot with yourself. Mixed signals were everywhere but you just couldn't let them go that easily. Like you were stuck in quicksand, trying to get out of it but as you do, you just sink in deeper. Might as well let it sink in and disappear.

That was all a year ago, and you were now outside by the beach. Sat by the white sand as you admired how beautiful the waves were even at nighttime. Saturn by Sza was playing on your headphones as you looked up at the dark sky, admiring the little stars you could barely see while the sound of waves was also in the background with the music.

If Karma's really real

How am I still here?

Just seems so unfair

I could be wrong tho

If there's a point to being good

Then where's my reward?

The good die young and poor

I gave it all I could

The lyrics hit you hard, earning a bit of a chest pain as you couldn't relate to it more than ever. All the fun memories you had together flooded your mind as you listened to the music. Going to dates where she mostly wanted to go, having late-night calls and talking about almost everything that was going on with your life to each other, all the stupid jokes and the bickering where your friends couldn't take it anymore and the two of you would just laugh it all off.

You had to lose it all. Sometimes you wonder if you've made the wrong decision to let go. Regret washes your entire mind and soul as your tears start flowing non-stop every midnight, reminding you of all of the beautiful memories you just had to trash out because of the choice you made. But as much as you felt all the joy and the happiness of the world when you were with her, it began to change into pain. Pain that you wouldn't have imagined stinging so much that you eventually had to make a choice to let go and leave.

Taking a big deep breath, you felt someone's presence come and sit beside you. You smile softly at her as you take off your headphones, letting them hang on your neck for a while as you can hear small music leaking from them.

"What are you doing here at this time?"

"Just admiring the view while having some fresh air"

"You sound like a romantic"

Hanni snorted a bit as she looked at the view in front of her. The small cold breeze hits both of you smelling a hint of sea salt passing by as well.

"I thought you were crying again"

"Stop reminding me, it's embarrassing"

You laugh a bit at what Hanni had just said and remember the time when she decided to crash into your apartment with snacks in her hand but instead caught you crying in your room alone with crumpled tissues scattered everywhere. You were a total mess at that time and the image still creeps into your mind, sending a shiver and an uneasy wave of embarrassment down your spine every time you remember them.

"I was thinking of her, though..."

Thoughts linger on about her once again as you start to daze off from the beach view.

What if I didn't let go of her? Would we still be talking, laughing at each other like we always do, or would I be in a crying mess again?

We used to joke around, laughing non-stop at almost everything, now all I do is cry non-stop instead. I sometimes wonder, if I had enough courage in me and talked about my feelings about her, we might've done something about it together.

I wonder if she thinks about me like I do. Has she ever cried about me? I feel bad if I ever made her cry. Not like I can do something about it now.

I wish I could, but I think it'll just hurt me again. Because I'll be giving her my all again and I'll be stuck in a loop then.

You snapped out when you finally noticed you were rambling your thoughts to Hanni without even noticing.

"Sorry..."

"Don't be"

Hanni shifted her gaze, locking them at yours as she smiled warmly. You would always feel reassured every time you see that smile of hers. Perfectly warm for a cold breezy night. You could see the stars clearly by now and the moon peaking from the thin clouds, the light shimmering as it reflects on the surface of the water, and a bit of music that's still playing from your headphones, going to the end of the chorus.

Find something worth saving

It's all for the taking

I always say

I'll be better on Saturn

None of this matters

Dreaming of Saturn

You listen to the lyrics and think if it'd be actually nice on Saturn. Even if it wasn't as far as Saturn, just somewhere you could ease your mind without all the lingering thoughts that wrapped you around like a thorned bush, pricking your soul.

"Saturn sounds nice"

The girl stares at you with a hint of confusion in her eyes as you suddenly, out of the blue, talk about planets.

"I'm so fucked up on this planet, might as well just go to Saturn you know?"

You never know, being in Saturn might be better than you think. Far away from the problems you've left behind, no one chasing you down for it. I'll make Saturn a place where I could rest from heart, just carefree and mindless. No more pain or hurt. Just focusing on myself and the future ahead of me. I bet I could make the best planet in the universe if NASA would let me. Well, that would be valid if we could "land" on Saturn in the first place without burning and melting ourselves.

You outed a chuckle as you yapped your thoughts of Saturn to Hanni and the girl couldn't help but laugh lightly at your sudden plans about making the "best planet in the universe"

But deep down, you knew that even when you'd send yourself off to Saturn or even as far away as Neptune, you'd somehow think about the girl just like how you've been lingering your thoughts on her on a random night at the beach. You take a deep breath, stopping thinking about it for once when you hear her speak up in a quiet mumble.

"I'll be your Saturn."

It was your turn to look at the girl with confusion and surprise. Your eyes met once again as she showed that warm smile with a soft chuckle.

"Sorry, that just sounded cheesier way more than I imagined"

Your thoughts wander again.

Hanni had been with you from your first-ever crush to your first-ever relationship (even when it was complicated as hell) till your heartbreaking moments. She was the one who you'd open up to when it came to opinions and bits of advice, she's the one you'd tell firsthand about every exciting thing that happened to your life, the one you'd update even when it was 3 am early in the morning, and her shoulders were the ones you cried and leaned on when your heart was shattered to pieces.

Being with Hanni allowed you to be idiotic, to be yourself. No matter how bad the situations were or how stupid things could get when with her, you could just laugh it all off and be carefree. You'd forget all your worries and problems, and the time with her would fly so fast. You remember way back then, you'd repeatedly ask Hanni's mom if she could stay a bit longer. You feel all the comfort you need when you're with her.

"You already are"

Her facial expression turned into a surprised one as she heard your response. The music leaking from your headphones had finally come to an end, only the sound of waves in the background left as you gave back the warm smile she always wears to reassure you, letting you forget all the problems and weight on your shoulders.

"You are my Saturn"

After some time of staring at each other, the long comforting silence soon ended with soft giggles and laughs as you and Hanni looked back at the ocean view with the golden moon and diamond stars shining their way making everything a perfect picture.

"You were right... that did sound cheesier than I imagined"

no way I just fkn finished this wait what

#kariwrites_🦦#hanni pham #newjeans #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #kpop x reader #hanni x reader #pham hanni #hanni #nwjns #newjeans fic #newjeans imagines

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mildkleptomaniac · 2 years ago

Text

type one — jj maybank x cameron!reader

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: “ Hey! Do you think you could do an imagine where the reader is Sarah’s twin and all the pogues are at a party or on the boat and her blood sugar drops really low (she has type one diabetes) and her pump keeps beeping. She is mid passing out, not feeling good and rafe has her Insulin so little bit of big brother rafe worried about his little sister and JJ and her not being together yet but he was super worried about her (like all of the pogues tbh). Thanks xxxx I really love your writing 🥺 every time you post something it makes my day ”

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fainting, almost passing out,

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: my boyfriend is type 1 and i really tried my best remembering everything he has to go through. hope this is accurate enough and y’all enjoy!! we love a sweet brother rafe and caring jj.

Summer, the season of warmth and light, a time of vitality and Boneyard parties. Air filled with salty atmosphere and the smoke of the bonfire. Teenagers trickled onto the beach, dragging kegs in the sand, chairs, and stereos. Partiers shed layers of clothing to embrace the heat and the warmth of the bodies next to them.

Y/N savored the Boneyard parties, enjoying her time with friends and her siblings, the drinks, and the people-watching. She fell into a rhythm of dancing with one of her twin’s boyfriend’s friends, JJ. Sarah mentioned JJ occasionally, but Y/N was surprised at how well they clicked. The first time JJ and Y/N met, he gave her a cold shoulder–until she assisted him in winning a Beer Pong game.

After several drinks and dancing the night away, Y/N began to feel light-headed. JJ kept his hands around her waist as she slowed down, the scenery around her became spinning. Racking through ideas of why she felt like this–she’d forgotten to take her blood sugar before leaving the house.

The music and the conversations drowned out the sound of her insulin pump beeping loudly, signaling her blood sugar increased dangerously high. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything around her before her pump began vibrating in her pocket. If she wasn’t light-headed enough, the vibration made it worse.

“I need to sit down,” Y/N muttered, pulling away from JJ’s grasp. His brows furrow, still holding onto her waist before sitting her down on some driftwood. Weaker and weaker, Y/N began fumbling with her pump. Dread coursed through her at the epiphany she ran out of insulin. Her mouth felt parched.

“JJ–Where’s Sarah?” Her voice was weak, as she glanced around the party to find her twin. Sarah and Y/N were never separated for long, before they knew it, Sarah spotted her sister and raced over.

“Hey, what’s going on?” She questioned before the realization of the situation hit her.

“Her pump keeps beeping and–”

“Sarah, get Rafe–he has the glucagon in his car–” Y/N waved her hand, limply.

Her twin didn’t need to hear anymore before Sarah and the rest of the Pogues hunt down Rafe Cameron. JJ held Y/N in his arms, stroking her hair as she lay there, hoping to calm her down. He kept small talk, making sure she didn’t actually pass out. On the edge of his seat, he kept looking for his friends or Rafe, hoping they’d come back soon with insulin for Y/N.

Explicitly, JJ never stated his feelings for the Cameron twin, but the Pogues picked up on it by his constant desire to be within arms reach or asking if she’d be joining them today on whatever adventures they voyaged on.

If she wasn’t feeling like passing out, she would be embarrassed. Being seen as weak and vulnerable in front of others was deemed to be her worst fear. JJ’s words blurred together as her hearing faded in and out, her vision becoming hazy.

“Come here, Y/N” Rafe spoke, now supporting his younger sister. Despite Y/N and Sarah being twins, Rafe and she had an unspoken bond. The sibling relationship held no jealousy, but empathy for each other’s struggles and relationships with their father. No competition or underlying hatred–something Rafe held against Sarah for being the favorite child. “I got you, let’s get this going for you.”

Rafe fumbled with the device, despite training for this emergency multiple times. JJ watched him kneel down beside his sister, and the hatred between the two disappeared. Rafe never approved of his sisters hanging out with the Pogues, but when it came to Y/N and her diabetes, nothing mattered anymore.

As the insulin started to take effect, Y/N started to feel better. Rafe and JJ sat with her, keeping her company until she became fully conscious again. Rafe held her hand, stroking his thumb over it. Seeing his sister in such a distressed state only made things worse for Rafe–not wanting to get the backlash from their father. Y/N constantly reminded him that her diabetes would never be his fault if something bad happened to her–she made sure Ward knew too.

Pope, Kie, and the couple watched over Y/N s well, worried that they would have to call an ambulance.

"Thanks, Rafe," Y/N said, feeling grateful. "I'm sorry I'm such a burden and killing the mood."

Rafe chuckled. "You're not a burden," he said. "You're my little sister. I'll always be here to take care of you." A side of Rafe Cameron not many people witness. If anything were to happen to his siblings, under his watch, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

The night ended shortly after, Pope offering to drive Y/N home s she could fill her pump with insulin. Accepting his offer, JJ rode in the backseat with the Cameron girl. Her head rested on his shoulder, Pope peeking through the rearview mirror to make sure nothing else went awry. The two helped her inside, not wanting to leave until she made herself comfortable, fixed her pump, and got some light food and water in her.

“Thank you, Pope,” She wrapped his arms around him. She knew how much he disliked Rafe–just relieved neither JJ nor Pope let their feelings get in the way of her health. Letting go, she faced the blonde.

Pope waited in the car, allowing the two to talk privately.

“I was hoping we’d have more time together tonight to dance and talk.” She confessed. JJ laughed, nodding his head. He wished the night didn’t end the way it did as well.

“Hm, maybe tomorrow we can make up for a lost time–only if you remember to take care of yourself.”

#jj maybank x reader #( jj maybank )#jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x kook!reader #obx imagines #outer banks imagine #jj maybank x cameron!reader #rafe cameron younger sister #rafe cameron imagine #sarah cameron twin sister

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electrosair · 2 years ago

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You faint in front of them

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: cyno + tighnari + thoma (separate) it's only fluff I think but just in case tw(?: the reader faints (let me know if there's something else)

word count: 1k (300 per each approx.)

Cyno

The heat left marks all over our bodies, while Cyno seemed relaxed and with a steady pace, I could not help wiggling my limbs to peel off the fabric of my clothes. My breathing was barely level as my legs trembled with each step on the great dunes of the Sumeru desert. The beads of sweat trickling down my forehead were beginning to feel cold and my vision was blurring. "Cyno…" I tried to call out to him in a whisper. The air from the nearby sandstorm was carrying me away and I felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as did my body.

The boy heard the small call of his name in the distance, a few feet behind him.

He turned around expecting a complaint from you How much further to go?, It's too hot, My legs hurt, but none of that came, all he could see was your body collapsing on the sand.

Cyno ran towards you and threw his spear anywhere, the first thing was to get you under shelter.

He guessed you had a sunstroke or something like that, he had seen it more than once in his expeditions in the desert, he was prepared for it.

I opened my eyes, seeing above me a blue-hued tent, was I in a Fatui camp? I tried to rise abruptly but a hand rested on my arm. "Relax, I'm here." Cyno's form appeared at my left side, holding a wet cloth. "Stay still, there's no need to get upset. I'm done with all those merchants, they weren't going with good intentions after all." He bent down and rested his lips on my head, if I wasn't red before, this made me red. "I think you need more rest, I'll stay outside standing guard." His spear resting on some crates was taken and he gave me one last look before leaving. "Thanks for everything, Cyno."

Tighnari

My desk was full of papers and documents about the flora of Sumeru, the scholars asked me for a small paper for some experiments being conducted at the academy and I didn't know how to refuse. The hours I had spent sitting and writing became too much even for me, a passionate ranger. The curtains of my cabin opened, letting in the moonlight, the last time I looked the sun was at its highest point. "I brought your dinner, have you even had your lunch?" Tighnari's voice distracted me from the mountain of scribbled papers that only seconds ago my head was buried in. "You didn't need to, what time is it?" "Around eleven, I thought it was strange not seeing you leave here, even when Collei came back from the expedition." He set the plate down on my nightstand and walked over to me "Come on, get up. I'll talk to the scholars." I pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up, a strong feeling of dizziness hit me and I grabbed the boy's arm.

He was surprised to see you fall on him, but tried to act as relaxed as possible.

Tighnari laid you down on the bed and went to get a canteen so you could have something to drink when you woke up.

He sat in the chair, worried that something too bad might have happened to you. He thought he shouldn't have taken you to clean up withered areas or given you small jobs when he knew how busy you had been these days.

His hands went through the papers and books you had studied, reading everything and leaving little notes on the most important parts or mistakes you might have made.

The sound of chirping jungle birds woke me up, the hunger and thirst I had reminded me of Tighnari's unexpected visit the night before. I looked around, seeing the dinner plate he brought along with a bottle. Farther away, with his arms crossed and eyes closed, was he, sleeping in a not very comfortable posture. My features melted at the thought of how worried he must have been to spend the whole night here, taking care of me.

Thoma

After spending a nice afternoon with Thoma at the Komore tea house, he decided that we could play his wonderful game of picking out strange foods. Was that a good idea? No. The bad taste in my mouth after several retches from the mixture that had formed in the casserole didn't help and the sight I had of the meals being stirred by Thoma didn't help either. "I can't take it anymore, I'm going to throw up…" "Are you feeling okay?" he immediately put down the spoon and rested his hand on mine. "You're getting pale" The room became more and more distorted as the seconds passed, which became eternal in my eyes, and in less than a minute my brain stopped working.

When Thoma saw you collapse beside him he laid you down on the softest surface he could find. Placing a cushion or anything of the sort over your head and feet.

He ran to get a damp cloth and lay it gently on your forehead.

After all, he tried his best to make you feel good once you woke up, he felt in a way that it was his fault.

Thoma checked several times if you had already woken up, and if the answer to his little inquiry about you was negative he took care to see if everything was still in order, wet cloth, well placed cushions and a comfortable position for you.

The sensation of moisture on my head woke me up, bringing my hand there instinctively. "Are you okay?" The whisper of Thoma's voice brought me back to what had happened. "Yes… I think, better than before" "I'm glad to hear that, I brought you an infusion to ease the pain in your gut, is that what happened, right?" I nodded gently, not wanting a headache back. He held the cup up to me, helping me take little gulps.

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gizm0-gadgetz · 4 months ago

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Oki doki! I don't really have a name for this au so if yall think of one lemme know. Call this the first chapter of my Post DTTM New Texas time travel fic I guess?

I don't know how well the concept is worded in this but I hope yall enjoy. Please please please lemme know what ya think

Under the read more (spacing might be a bit weird as its copied from my docs

When Jonny came too he was pissed. This was supposed to be the end, why was he still alive? It was like the universe was just trying to rub it in that he'd be alone…yet he felt someone else next to him. Somebody quite cold. Slowly and with much more effort than he expected he rolled over onto his back and sat up, having to do a double take at what he saw.

The entire crew was there, presumably knocked out themselves. Nastya was sitting closest to him, her body radiating a cold chill. Carefully he put a hand on her shoulder, almost jumping at the lack of warmth. He didn't let it dissuade him and carefully began searching for a pulse. It took a moment to find, he wasn't the greatest at it in the first place, but soon enough he found a pulse. It was slow but there. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and began to check everyone else in the area. Everybody who had a pulse normally still had it. They were all alive and all together.

That was that problem solved now where were they? It was a large empty clearing, a dry planet it seemed. Something about it nagged at him, like it was framiler. He tried to focus in on any noises and smells traveling in the wind which was harder to do than he expected. Perhaps he'd run out of practice? His ears twitched, alerting him to the sound of his friends starting to move.

He looked over to see Ivy slowly sit up and try to orientate herself. She brushed some dust and sand out of her hair and metal plating as she looked around before locking eyes with Jonny. Neither of them knew what to do for the moment, just staring at each other before finally he made a move. He practically launched himself at her to pull her into a tight hug, not saying a word. It took her a moment to process before she hugged back.

“Where are we?” She finally asked once he had let go. He just frowned and she seemed to get the message. “Should we awaken them?” With a simple gesture to the crew they agreed and began to shake everyone else awake. It wasn't too hard, most everyone woke up quite easily. Soon it was just the Toy Soldier left who didn't seem to respond to anything.

“Shit. How do we wake it up?” He looked to Ivy for ideas since everyone else was still adjusting. She stayed silent for a moment, staring at its body intensely as she analyzed the situation.

“It stopped pretending.”

“Yeah. Can we make it start again?”

“I think so.”

“How?”

“Pretend back.”

“And how do you suggest I do that exactly?” Jonny had to fight an eye roll at the simple suggestion. She paused to think it over before snickering quietly. “What? What did you come up with.”

“Well the most effective way, a 90 percent chance I believe, would be to give it a little kiss!”

“Wha- i- it's always kisses with you people!!!” He groaned, ignoring the rest of the crew's snickers as he crawled over to the toy soldier. After a moment he frowned and gave it a little kiss on the forehead. It seemed like nothing happened for a good few minutes before suddenly its eyes opened and it shot up like a bullet, hitting Jonny as he was still kneeled over it. He tumbled backwards holding his head. “Motherfucker!!!”

“Oh! Sorry Jonny old chap!” It held its hand out for him, clearly not picking up on his glare as he took the hand and let himself be pulled up. Once its hand had been taken the Toy Soldier pulled his friend into a tight hug, lifting the man off the floor ever so slightly. The others just watched as he attempted to wiggle his way out of the embrace, it being none the wiser of his escape attempts. “Lovely to see you again!!”

“Toy soldier, drop him.” It frowned but released the first mate from its grip, looking to Nastya who had given the order. “Thank you. Now, where are we exactly?” She turned her attention to Brian and Ivy, both of which were trying to work on recognizing the area.

“I do believe there is a town nearby.” Ivy clarifies after a long moment of silence. “Do you feel it?” Brian nodded and began walking toward something.

“Hold on, we can't just be going off into the middle of nowhere!” Jonny called out, having to sprint to catch up with his long strides. Brian paused for only a moment, scooping Jonny up in his arms once he was close enough. “Hey!! Hold on a fuckin’ second!! Put me down, bastard!!!”

“It's better than staying out here in the middle of nowhere. What's the worst that could happen?” Nastya's breath was visible as she spoke, the intense difference of the hot climate and how cold she was obvious.

“Shes got a point.” Ashes chimed in, catching up with the group.

“Theres a lot we need to discuss too.” Raph added; stretching as she walked. “Wouldn't that be better over some drinks?” Jonny didn't awnser right away, just staring at the group from over Brian's shoulder before sighing.

“Fine.” He grumbled, his tail flicking like that of an agitated cat. “Just…” Suddenly he sat up fully in Brian's arms, eyes narrowed and ears twitching. A low growl reverberated in his throat. The rest of the Mechanisms were confused. Clearly something had caught his attention but they couldn't see anything.

“Jonny?” He didn't respond even as Brian shifted to try and make them look eye to eye. Clearly whatever had his attention was important in some way. “What do you see?”

“I know where we are.” He finally clarifies as they continue to walk. “and we are going to stand out a lot. Now the problem is when..” He sighed and closed his eyes, ears twitching forward toward the horizon.

“Well, spill. Where are we then?” Ashes paused to light a cigar, missing the framiler taste. Jonny doesn't answer right away, instead shifting in Brian's arms so he could see ahead better. He was squinting in the bright sun's gaze, eventually deciding to pull his goggles over his eyes to focus.

“When would be a better question.” He grumbled mostly to himself as the town started to come into view.

“Looks like Vegas almost..” Tim pointed out as they approached. “Old party city on earth. Filled to the brim with gambling alcohol and all that fun stuff.” He explained after getting a few confused looks.

“Yeah…that's one way to describe this place.” Jonny sighed and climbed out of Brian's arms, this time allowed to do so. He did a wide gesture to the whole place as he began to talk. “Welcome to New Texas,” choosing to ignore the soft gasps coming from a few of his crew, he continued. “You're almost all going to stand out a lot just for being tall. I'm the taller side of average here.”

“No way. Really?” Tim had his doubts as he looked over his significantly shorter partner.

“Yes!! If you don't belive me you'll see in just a minute!!” He turned around and stormed toward the city, his tail betraying just how agitated he was about it.

“Well…I belive its about time we learn about Jonny.” Ivy pointed out as she began to follow the man.

“Oooh, do you think we can learn about his medical history here?” Marius chimed in with an excited look on his face.

“That would be wonderful!” Raph clapped her hands together with a big grin, the others simply choosing to ignore their interest in the topic. They kept walking until they reached the edge of town, proceeding into Jonny who had stopped.

“Something wrong chap?” Toy Soldier asked as it followed his gaze into town. After a moment the man just sighed and turned to face his companion.

“You look too clean, you're gonna stand out.” It didn't even have a chance to ask what he meant before he pulled him down by the shirt and took its hat away. He took a moment to ruffle its carefully styled hair before letting go. “That'll do for now. Right, listen up. As your captain-”

“First mate!”

“-You need to listen to me. Especially here.” For once he didn't even react to the jest. “This place is…shit. People here are gonna try and trick ya and rob ya at every moment. Just…keep a look out i guess.” He sighed, his gaze drifting back into town. “Blasted timelines.” After a moment he shook his head and ruffled his hair up. “Lets go to the bar.” He didn't even wait for a response before heading further into town. They had to hurry to catch up, lest they lose him in the crowded streets.

“Wow…he wasn't kidding.” Tim mused as he walked, paying attention to where he was stepping.

“So many of them-!” Raph squealed, barely able to contain her excitement.

“Until we know exactly what is happening you are not touching anybody.” Nastya’s tone left no room for discussion on the subject. She pulled her coat closer, glad she still had it as the cold had permeated her bones.

“This certainly explains a lot about our first mate!” Toy Soldier exclaimed, looking around with an eager smile. Eventually Jonny finally stops outside a larger building in the center of a crowded street. He took a deep breath and looked back to his crew.

“Right-”

“This is One-Eyed Jacks??” Tim interrupted, looking up at the sign.

“Yes. As much as I absolutely detest this place...they serve good drinks. Just…don't do anything stupid.” Jonny takes one last deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside. Everyone started following him in before there was a soft thunk. Turning back they saw tim holding his head, having clearly hit the door frame on his way in. Jonny just stared at him for a moment before chuckling which quickly turned into a proper laugh. “Should'a ducked jackass-” Tim only grumbled, still holding his head as he ducked this time before purposely stepping on the smaller man's foot. His hand flew to his holster only to find it empty. Right. He had thrown it away a while ago. “Yer a lucky bastard Tim.”

“Jonny.” Nastya scolded, looking down at him and then at Tim. “You already said we will stand out, do not bring any more attention to yourselves.”

“Yeah yeah…” He grumbled, hating the fact that she was right. Once he had taken the moment to calm down he led his group to the edge of the bar and took a seat on the farthest end he could get. It was clear to anyone paying attention he was very fidgety compared to normal. “Ashes ya got gold?”

“Always.” They dug into their pocket and pulled out a wallet, glad to see the papers weren't burnt. “Not in the mood for violence huh?” He just watched them as they took the seat next to him. After a moment he answered with a shrug.

“‘M too tired.” He spoke quietly, a very rare occurrence for himself. Tim decided to just stand next to Jonny, leaning against the bar as everyone else took a seat. Nobody knew what to say as they waited for a bartender to spot them.

“Good afternoon gents, and ladies of course.” A voice spoke up as someone approached. Jonny had to stop himself from growling as he recognized the man behind the bar. “Can't say i've seen yer faces ‘round here before ‘nd I know everyone. What can I get ya?” It was pretty easy to figure out that the bartender was the “one eyed jack”, owner of the casino and bar. The eyepatch made it quite obvious, confirmed by how much Jonny tensed up.

“Just whiskey,” Ashes decides to take the wheel before Jonny reaches over the bar and strangles the man.

“For all of yall?” They just nod as he reaches under the counter and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “Never seen yall ‘round here before. Where'd ya come from?”

“We came from outer space!” Jack pauses pouring a glass and looks at the Toy Soldier who only smiled. He was certainly intrigued, especially as Ashes elbowed it.

“Soldier! Don't answer random questions.” They scolded, watching as it paused for a moment before nodding and doing a mini salute, a signifier of having taken an order. Jack takes a moment to finish pouring the nine glasses before looking at them again, this time taking in as many details as he could.

“So, outer space huh? We ain't get many of those ‘round here too often. What brings ya to our lil’ town?” Clearly he was trying to sound nonchalant about it all despite being very interested. They could all see it from a mile away.

“None yer business jack.” Jonny grumbled before very quickly slamming his drink back. The man's ear twitched as he turned his focus to Jonny.

“Visitin’ after ya left huh? Ain't a very common thing to see. Dunno I've ever seen someone come back.” Jack leaned over the counter right in front of Jonny. Everyone just watched, unsure of what to do. If a fight broke out there was no saving the guy as Jonny was clearly barely holding back. “I can hear it in yer voice. Yer from ‘round here.” Jonny didn't answer, just staring at the man for a long moment before reaching over to Ashes and swiping their cigar.

“Wh-Jonny! You could just ask for your own!” They gently punched him in the shoulder but didn't bother taking it back as he took a puff.

“Taking yers is more fun.” Jack opened his mouth to say something before his attention was pulled away by someone knocking on the bar. Someone set an unmarked envelope on the table which Jack slipped into his pocket without a word. They didn't get much of a chance to look at the stranger before they disappeared through a door behind the bar. Jack watched them leave before turning his attention to the group again.

“Anything else I can get ya?” Jonny just shook his head.

“No. We should get going.” He could feel the rest of his crew look at him weird, after all they hadn't been there long and he almost never left after only one round of drinks. Quietly he just gestured to the door, mouthing something about explaining in a second. It took them all a moment to understand but soon enough Ashes was paying the tab and they were out in the hot sun again.

Jonny wasted no time in walking away, clearly having his mind set on something and not sharing what it was per usual. Since he was essentially their guide the rest of the mechanisms had no choice but to follow, each with varying levels of curiosity on where he was going. After a few minutes of silent walking he took a turn into an alleyway.

“Okay, what are you doing Jonny?” Nastya eyed him suspiciously as he pulled himself on top of a dumpster.

“Gonna check somethin. Stay put.” It was strange to hear him so serious as he climbed up the side of a building and onto the roof. He paused to look down at the group, once again gesturing for them to stay before walking across the roof and out of view.

“Well thats not suspicious at all.” Ashes scoffed, lighting a new cigar as Jonny hadn't given theirs back.

“Should we be following him?” Marius fidgeted awkwardly with his coat tail, unsure of what to do.

“We should give him a few minutes.” Brian piped in, startling a few of them. He had been very quiet since they arrived in New Texas and had been the last to finish his drink. If Brian was encouraging something it usually meant he had an idea of what was happening so they agreed to stay, at least for the moment.

Still they couldn't help but wonder what he was up to that climbing onto a roof was the best way to go about it. Clearly he'd taken that path many times as he got up with ease. It was just more mystery about his actual backstory.

#gizm0 #gizm0 writing #the mechanisms #one eyed jack #nastya rasputina #jonny dville #jonny d'ville #drumbot brian #the toy solider #toy solider #raphaella la cognizi #baron marius von raum #marius von raum #ashes o'reilly #gunpowder tim

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eztilsolar · 13 days ago

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(is it okay if i use your humanformers design BUT in rodifish? I'm really in love with him. If not, it's alright, robot rodifish or humanformers rodifish, nothing change in my little fic)

Walking on the beach, feeling the fresh air on your damp skin, the sun hitting hard in this late summer evening, you were taking some time for yourself. You finally had a week for yourself from your work, and you couldn't be more gratefull.

The water was nice, all over your feet, a little crab running under a rock, shells coloring the sand,... everything was good.

You keep walking, a precise destination in mind. It's a little hidden place with big rocks, perfect for laying there and enjoy the last sunrays with no one to disturb your peace.

In your backpack, you brought your meal, some slices of bread with tomatoes and olive oil, a very simple delicious meal for the evening to watch the sunset.

Reaching your spot, you take out your towel, spread it on the rock, ready everything, take off your clothes to reveal your favorite red and orange swimmsuit.

Everything was good. Good music, warm water, sun slowly setting down... Nothing could go wrong...

Except for this one weird form slicing the surface in the horizon. Unfortunately, you didn't see at the right time, only the tail's tip, making you believe there are whales. Except that whales weren't present in this aera, something you don't know...

Taking your stuff, you decide that going watching the whales over there was better than your safe, perfect little spot.

It was good ! There was a cave right where you wanted to settle. Seeing that there is still time before it was dark, you decide it is a good idea to explore the aera.

It seems stable enought, the cave being old, weathered rocks all around you. It was cool, green, red and yellow rocks, witnesses of the weathering of the rocks, was coloring the walls. A mistake of yours, you weren't looking up, at the ceilling, where claws marks was showing...

Going further in, time seems to erase, only enjoying the moment. Feeling like an explorator, Indiana Jones from wish vibe, narrating every steps you made in your head, a fresh and strong gust of wind hit your back, making you shiver. Shit, was the sun already set and the air was getting cold? But the cave was still warm and cozy...

Going against your instinct, you keep going. The cave was getting only bigger. After some minutes, you reach wat seems to be a nest. Green and dark brown algeae in a circle around a big pool, some dead fishes in a corner, shells and corals decorating the entier walls, multitude of colors setting a joyfull ambiance. The person who did this really was a genius. It was beautiful. Walking in the many tiny puddles, the water was way warmer than the sea.

You were... hypnotised. You couldn't take your eyes off of it. You let your bag slide off your shoulders, and walk toward the nest. There were again shells and corals, with little colorfull rocks, and the pool was also warmer. It was good.

A melody, faint and beautiful, rang in the cave. Weirdly, you couldn't react to it. It was as if... as if...

As seconds quickly pass, the melody grew stronger. You sit in the pool, feeling your legs tired from the long walk you took. Just like your legs, you become tired, even sleepy. But everything was good. Your body feel light, your mind away from its usual worries. And two, big, gigantic blue eyes bend over to look a two, with a sweet smile, the creature's shadow looming over you. The melody continues, lulling you slowly to sleep. You manage to hear purrs, heavy purrs.

Red and yellow scales around the face, two very thin yellow fins, webbed cheeks and big hands. You can only see the big creature's hands reach for you before you fall limp onto its palm, before falling heavy asleep.

The creature knew right at the moment it saw you on the beach, you had to be his. You were so cute! you were a tiny bipedal version of him with his colors ! And seeing you going into his nest, he knew you were his. So he waited for you to be deep into his cave for singing you to sleep.

When you were finally in his hand, he gently scoops you (you were not bigger than his palm), hop in his nest, and cuddle you against his face. He licks your entire body to clean you. You were warm, all squishy, and your skin tasted good...

He installs himself all comfy in his nest, snuggle you all against his chest, secure you against him, and fall asleep, purring out loud of satisfaction.

He was going to pamper you, cherish you, keep you just for himself...

Tadaaaaam ! I hope you like it !!!

Writting this fic, i had some questions about rodifish...

I wrote his nest to be in a cave, out of the water, but can he stays out of water? His nest in underwater because either he can't breath out of water or it's his prefereces to have it out ?

Is he more fishy look alike or robot look alike ? Does his body is a mix between robot and tail or complet organic ?

Does he even sing lol? I turned him into a siren more than a mer but i though it could have been interesting.

And at last, would he "eat" his little human ? Vore! Siren! Rodimus ? I'd love it to just him keeping his human in his mouth just like aligator mamas do, not swallowing (even if he could do it by mistake with how tiny and delicious you are...)

He can stay out of water for long periods of time, maybe three-four hours. He’d probably have two nests, one underwater and one above, just for the reason that he has many visitors. He’s more robot look alike but he is half organic!! His internals kinda work more organically while his hard, robot bits are on the outside. I explained it better in my google doc (which I cannot reference at this current moment-)

He occasionally sings, he does more humming and trilling, think of a whale song.

Also, I don’t think he would. He thinks they’re neat little creatures and likes to watch and engage with them. He would do the carry in the mouth thing though, I fear

ALSO THANK YOU!!! I was giggling and kicking my feet the entire time, I adore this so much! He actually has a humanoid version of his Rodifish design! It’s somewhere on my alt lol- I like how he’s like “well, they’re in MY colors and in my cave, so obviously I get to keep them!” Because yeah he would

#transformers #rodimus #eztil answers #Rodifish #anon fics #my au #merformers

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zzznnnq · 2 months ago

Text

★ Chapter Ten: The Beach Trip

The school trip to the beach was something we’d all been looking forward to. It was supposed to be one of those carefree days—sun, sand, and a break from the usual school routine. When we all piled into the bus, the excitement was palpable, everyone buzzing with energy. Minji and her friends claimed the back seats, as usual, while I ended up sitting with Rei and Leeseo somewhere in the middle.

The banter started right away. Ryujin was already challenging Hanni to see who could make the biggest splash in the ocean, while Karina teased Minji about wearing sunscreen like a mom. I overheard Rei and Leeseo making jokes about building the biggest sandcastle ever, even though I knew neither of them had any serious plans to do it.

And then there was Wonyoung.

She was sitting a few rows ahead of me with Yujin, their heads close together as they whispered and giggled about something. I tried not to stare, tried to focus on the conversation going on around me, but it was like I had this internal radar for her—always knowing exactly where she was, even without meaning to.

“Hey, Y/N!” Rei nudged me, bringing me back to the present. “You gonna join us in the water, or are you gonna mope on the beach like some kind of seaweed?”

I laughed, forcing myself to shake off the mood. “You kidding? I’m going to out-splash all of you.”

-————-

When we finally arrived at the beach, the sun was already high, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. The second our feet hit the sand, the chaos began. Minji and Karina set up a volleyball net, calling out to everyone for a match. Hanni and Ryujin were already racing to the water, screaming like banshees, while Rei and Leeseo dragged me toward the shoreline, determined to make good on their promise to splash everyone.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything else. The cold water hitting my skin jolted me into the moment, the laughter and the feel of the sun on my back chasing away the tension that had been hanging over me for weeks.

But, of course, it didn’t last.

After some time, Wonyoung and Yujin strolled down to the water, their hands intertwined. Wonyoung was in a flowy sundress over her swimsuit, her hair tied up in a loose bun, looking effortlessly perfect. I caught myself staring again, the familiar ache creeping into my chest.

"Hey, Y/N!" Wonyoung’s voice jolted me. She was smiling, that warm, easy smile that always made me feel both excited and hollow at the same time. "Wanna join our team for volleyball?"

I blinked, trying to process the question. "Uh, sure. Who’s on your team?"

"Me, Yujin, and Minji. You in?"

The combination of being on the same team as both Wonyoung and my sister made my brain short-circuit for a second, but I nodded. "Yeah, why not?"

As we started playing, things got competitive fast. Minji’s spikes were brutal, and Ryujin and Hanni weren’t holding back on the opposite team. I found myself caught between trying to win and being hyper-aware of Wonyoung’s presence beside me. Every time we high-fived after a good play, my heart did that stupid flutter thing, and I hated how much it affected me.

But it was Yujin who seemed to notice the tension first. Between points, she glanced between me and Wonyoung, her expression unreadable, but I could tell she was picking up on something. I kept my head down, focusing on the game, but it was hard to ignore the way her gaze lingered on me.

-————-

After the game, the group split up. Some people went back to the water, others lounged on the sand, and I ended up wandering alone along the shoreline. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was calming, and for a moment, I let myself just exist in that space, free of the whirlwind of thoughts that usually plagued me when I was around Wonyoung.

But, as if on cue, I heard her voice again.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

I turned to see Wonyoung jogging toward me, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. I tried to prepare myself for another casual conversation, but there was something different in the way she was looking at me now. Something serious.

“Mind if I walk with you?” she asked, already falling into step beside me.

“Sure,” I said, my throat tightening.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the sand cool under our feet as the waves lapped at the shore. I could feel the tension building between us, like we were both avoiding something we didn’t want to confront.

Finally, Wonyoung spoke. “You’ve been... distant again.”

There it was. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing for a response. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

Wonyoung stopped walking, turning to face me. “You keep saying that, but... I don’t believe you.”

I froze, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

She took a step closer, her eyes searching mine. “You’re pulling away from me, Y/N. And I don’t get why.”

I wanted to tell her everything—to spill all the messy feelings I’d been hiding for so long. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I looked away, out at the ocean, my chest tight with the weight of everything unsaid.

“It’s complicated,” I muttered, hating how weak it sounded.

“Then explain it to me,” she said softly. “I want to understand.”

I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to open up, but I couldn’t. Not like this, not when I knew how impossible it all was. Wonyoung was with Yujin, and even if she wasn’t, there was no way she felt the same way about me. I was just... stuck.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The only sound was the waves crashing against the shore, the distant laughter of our friends somewhere down the beach.

“Wonyoung,” I began, I could feel the breath catch in my throat, “So… do you like her that much?”

Wonyoung looked at me, her gaze was steady, almost expectant. My silence spoke volumes, but I had to know.

“I love her, Y/N,” Wonyoung said, her voice quiet, but certain.

I felt the words sink in, twisting the knot tighter in my chest. A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Right. Of course you do. Silly me for asking.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but there was a sadness in her eyes, one that made me feel like she understood more than I realized.

“I’m sorry,” I added quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she interrupted gently. “Just... don’t shut me out, okay?”

I nodded, but the weight in my chest didn’t lighten. Not really.

-————-

Later that evening, after the sun had set, the teachers organized a small fireworks show to wrap up the day. We all gathered on the beach, sitting in small groups, watching as the first bursts of color lit up the night sky.

I sat with Rei and Leeseo, but my eyes kept drifting to Wonyoung and Yujin, who were sitting close together a few feet away. Wonyoung’s head rested on Yujin’s shoulder, their hands intertwined. I tried to look away, but it was like a magnet pulling me in.

The fireworks exploded overhead, vibrant reds and blues and golds, but all I could feel was the sinking weight in my chest. I glanced at Wonyoung again, and for a brief second, our eyes met.

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness there, like she understood more than she was letting on.

The fireworks continued, filling the sky with light and sound, but all I could think about was how far away Wonyoung felt, even though she was right there.

And in that moment, I knew things would never be the same between us.

#jang wonyoung #jang wonyoung x fem reader #wonyoung x reader #newjeans minji #ive wonyoung

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lenreli · 5 months ago

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saved from the cold [Dreamling Week Day 7 - Assassins]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

Title from Diablo Swing Orchestra's A Tap Dancer's Dilemma!

M, 2.1k. Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house.

The forest is wild ― and cold, a thick layer of snow on the ground, on the shrubs and trees as he runs, voices nearing. Looking back, he can see shapes over the horizon and his heart races, off-setting the winter in his bones as he runs and runs―

Until he hits something, and Hob was expecting a tree, but walking back, he sees a small house, the land cleared and white around it. Fuck.

And then he feels a stabbing, piercing pain in his leg, making him scream and fall to the floor. His blood splatters on the snow, and the last thing he sees before pain overtakes him is the arrow, all the way through his shin.

Hob’s quite surprised to wake up, feeling hot with a fire he can feel nearby, as well as a luxuriously thick blanket, black and possibly the softest thing he’s ever touched as he stares at it.

“You were hurt,” a voice says, clipped and impersonal as Hob looks up, breath leaving him. Pale skin, glowing in the light of the fire, black clothes blending in with the darkness, and long black hair, shiny and wavy, the only pops of colour being pink lips and blue eyes. “I believe the people went past this house, leaving you for dead.”

Hob sighs in relief, grimacing as he moves his hurt leg, pulling back the blanket slightly so he can see the black fabric covering it. Looking around, he sees the man sit next to him, a bed on the other side of him, and the fire in an ornately decorated fireplace, a length of black rope coiled near a chair. “Sorry for uh, the,” he gestures to himself with a sheepish smile and the man blinks.

“It was no trouble ― I was not sleeping when you screamed,” the man says. Hob cringes. “May I ask why they were going after you?” The man asks, tilting his head, and Hob clutches the blanket tighter, as to not see if the man’s hair is as silky as it seems.

“Ah, well. I haven’t,” he bites his lips, then sighs, “I wasn’t the best person, when I was younger, and so one of the people I crossed in the past, probably very rich, decided to send assassins after me.” The man’s brows furrow.

“After all this time?”

Hob shrugs, “apparently so. And I don’t blame them ― I was pretty horrible, though I’ve been learning…” trailing off, he blinks at his saviour. “Why are you out here, stranger?”

The stranger shifts to stare into the fire, blue eyes reflecting the flames, “I have been hiding, in a way, also,” the man says softly, voice soft and deep in a way that Hob wouldn’t mind hearing every day.

Getting the sense that he won’t get more of the man, he asks a more pressing question. “Can I get a name, stranger?” The man blinks, blue eyes wide, “I’m Hob.”

“Hob,” the stranger repeats slowly, his nickname stretched out deliciously. “I am Morpheus,” he says eventually. “How are you feeling? I am unused to taking out arrows.”

Stretching his limbs, he winces, the pain dull, and he can feel the build-up of blood on the fabric, “well, you got both bits out, which is a win in my book,” he says with a smile. “Just ― pain. Fuck, walking is gonna suck,” he despairs, “may need to get a stick or something so―”

The man interrupts him by standing up, expression determined and Hob blinks as the man begins to whisper, doing a slow circle with his hands. Black sand, glistening in the firelight seems to come from Morpheus’s hands and Hob gapes, amazed at the sight as a black stick eventually forms, obsidian and heavy, by the way it thuds into the other’s hands. “I am no good with human anatomy, but this I can do,” Morpheus says, putting the stick next to him.

Hob blinks, taking a deep breath, “beautiful,” he whispers and Morpheus starts, blue eyes somehow even bluer as they stare at him. Getting a hand out from the warm blanket, he feels the stick, thicker at the top than the end of it ― and he can feel textures, engravings on it.

“Many people do not think that,” Morpheus says shortly and Hob looks up from the item the other man made. “Including my own family,” Morpheus’s brows furrow, “some of them.”

“It’s amazing! Did you make this, too?” He grins, arms pulling the blanket up, and Morpheus nods.

“The snow was quite heavy and you were covered in it, and so it is enhanced and can also stop frostbite from setting in,” Morpheus says quietly, pale face now a light red. “The crutch you use will also be quite light for how heavy it is.”

Hob smiles, charmed and endlessly grateful for being shot in front of the other’s house, “thank you, Morpheus,” he says, and Morpheus seems to get even redder, face focused on the fire. Blinking, he stares at the blanket, warm and weighted, then at Morpheus, “come over here. We can share.”

Morpheus blinks and brings his arm tighter around himself, “I am fine.”

Sighing, Hob picks up his new crutch, using the bottom end to drag himself over to Morpheus, who looks bewildered, then startled as Hob throws an edge of the blanket over the other’s shoulders. “There,” he smiles, leaning closer to bring the blanket edges together, making sure not to touch the other man. Even though he wants to.

“That is not―” Morpheus gapes, brows furrowing as he cuddles into his side of the blanket. “Thank you.”

Morpheus relaxes next to him, hair―a mess, can feel it brush against his shoulder, “can I? Your hair?” He asks, causing Morpheus to look over, pink lips so close and eyes so blue―and confused, yet he nods. Carefully, Hob gathers the long black hair in a hand, taking a sharp breath at the softness of it as he lightly twists it together, resting it on the other’s shoulder, long black hair pooling in the other’s lap.

“Is this a tactic of yours? Sharing body heat?” Morpheus asks, blue eyes dark through his lashes and Hob can feel his face heat.

“Once or twice, I won’t deny,” he mumbles, tugging his ear, and he resists freezing up as their shoulders touch. “Entirely up to you, of course, we can just share this and it’d be perfe―”

He’s cut off by the other’s mouth on his, lips as soft and plush as they look, his hands going up to cup Morpheus’s jaw, soft, slightly-cold skin. The kiss itself is chaste, Morpheus stopping as they connected, and it takes some coaxing for Morpheus to respond as he licks the other’s mouth, one of his hands stroking down a pale throat, feeling a shiver as Morpheus starts to respond, joining into the kiss.

Morpheus presses forward, hands going through his hair, down to his beard and he shivers at the touch, moving to lean over the other man―”ow,” he winces, shin twinging at the movement, Morpheus pulling him away to give him an unimpressed look. “Well, the bed looks comfier than the floor anyway,” he says, nodding to the bed in question.

There’s a huff from Morpheus as he stands up with his crutch, Morpheus putting a hand around his waist as they eventually get to the bed, Hob groaning at the soft feel of it. Appreciation of the bed over, he brings Morpheus in from his leaning near him, bringing the blanket over them as they begin to kiss more.

Hands go under clothes, explorative and blissfully warm as they gasp and kiss, the eventual orgasm slow and gentle as they rut against each other. Morpheus pants against his neck as he gets another blanket from the bed to clean themselves up, and Hob laughs at the way the other man glares down at the white staining his other black sheet.

Afterwards, Morpheus curls on top of him as they fall asleep, blanket a cocoon around them.

The guard’s nod at him as he begins to walk up the lengthy path, trees on all sides, and Hob hopes that this visit to the royal palace won’t end with him in pain ― or jail. Or worse. Though, from what he’s heard, there’s mainly celebration and good tidings, their absent king returning, not that Hob paid much attention to royalty aside from when they paid him.

And it’s weird, the way guard’s nod to him, letting him pass without incident as he makes his way into the huge entrance, spiraling stairs and people milling about ― and someone, a darker-skinned lady in a purple suit, motions for him to follow, which he does. Eyes wide, he looks at the various portraits and gilded ceilings with awe.

Eventually, the lady stops in front of a door, ravens etched onto it as he turns on the spot, opening the door for him. There’s the sound of the doors closing, but he’s too distracted by all the art, watercolour and like a whole other world ― a huge castle on the edge of a cliff, a bridge with human hands holding it up, so much that he’s overwhelmed by the time he sees there’s a person in here, waiting as he gapes―

―The first thing he sees is a halo on top of the person’s head, bird feathers and gems intricately put together, the sun shining between it, the person’s hair black and―

―He kneels to the floor, eyes getting even wider at seeing Morpheus, face amused, so beautiful in daylight that he’s speechless, only able to take in the beauty in front of him. Morpheus’s hair, tied into a braid and going over his shoulder, a soft robe draped over him, pale hands clasped in front of him. “Beautiful,” he breathes, almost not hearing himself with how his heart races at the sight.

Morpheus’s neck turns pink, bright blue eyes looking away from him, “there is no need for that,” Morpheus says, swaying forward to grab his hands, pulling him up softly, the smell of lilacs and lavender strong.

“There was for me,” Hob says, staring down at the soft hands holding his own, gripping them closer so he could kiss the knuckles. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, unless I came across that cabin somehow,” he whispers.

Of course, he treasured the memory anyway, even with Morpheus protesting that he didn’t have to go, although Hob pointing out the people after him at the time was enough to quiet them, Hob not wanting to leave as he gave Morpheus a goodbye kiss, too worried with what they’d do with the fey-looking man. “I am happy to see you,” Morpheus says, voice hushed between them.

“You did call for me, I assume,” Hob grins, rocking on his heels and Morpheus sends a look to his leg. “Your crutch was very useful, and I still have it, of course,” he smiles, thinking of how he tied a variety of blankets and rags over it, hiding the intricate carvings, and so people would feel less inclined to take it. Though, it did come in handy when beating the people attempting to take it, of course. “At most, my leg just twinges weirdly with changes in temperature, but otherwise.”

“I am glad,” Morpheus sighs, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together, the other’s hands clutching his own firmly. “When we met that night,” Morpheus starts, eyelashes dark as he looks down, “I was hiding―from myself, mainly. And in that night,” Morpheus trails off. “After, I kept thinking of you all the time, your amazement, your enthusiasm for my gift, which I so often thought of as a curse…”

“It is amazing,” Hob grins, still thinking fondly of the black sand he saw that night and Morpheus’s cheeks go pink, almost matching the pink of his lips.

“Some of my family have told me that, but I found it hard to believe, until that night, a glimmer of sunlight in that dreary winter when I was―” Morpheus cuts himself off, lips thinning and Hob wonders what he was going to say. “I,” Morpheus steps away, their hands still joined as Morpheus takes a deep breath, blue eyes steeling as they stare at him. “I have called you here, if you approve, to become part of my retinue, whichever―”

“Yes,” he grins, leaning in, nose brushing against the other’s cheek before he stops himself from the kiss he wants. “I’d love to be a bodyguard for you, maybe?”

Morpheus’s eyes crinkle, their hands joined still, “whatever you desire,” Morpheus says quietly, looking up through his lashes and Hob’s heart goes to his throat, mouth dry as Morpheus continues to stare at him.

[Fin]

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dreamling week #dreamling week 2024 #writing #not sfw #a happy day!!!#have hob getting an arrow through his leg

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yandere-yearnings · 3 months ago

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Ocean, You Pull Me In (Female Dolphin!Hybrid x GN!Reader)

feat. Ophelia

♡ pt.0, approx 1k words | next.

♡ post-specific warnings: drowning, near-death experience | series warnings: n/a

♡ a/n: repost since i realised i forgot to put this back up. unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

Rolling waves crashed and the rain plundered into the ocean, salty water spattering back onto the wreck of wood that was once a boat. This storm had not waned, despite your earlier judgement. Secretly, you'd known the risk when you'd set off from land, but food was scarce and the children from the orphanage were hungry. They were probably still waiting, staring out the window of the beatendown building whilst the roof was undoubtedly beginning to leak.

No matter, even if you drowned, someone would come along to provide for them. You truly hoped that. You'd make it your dying wish.

In your ears, water sloshed and drummed, like it was lulling you to sleep, but the currents tossed you to and fro unkindly still. Your eyes stung, you wanted to close them and shield them even a little from the debris swirling around. Water lurched against you, into your mouth and lungs, behind your eyelids — forcing them open. Deeper, you were fading, limbs aching as you uncoiled, vision slowly vignetting into haunting black.

Something flicked against the distant tide, and faintly, you heard three echoing clicks. Perhaps it was death, beckoning you to its bosom.

It was a long going, wherever it was that you were going. You felt yourself being dragged along, unable to move a muscle, unable to see or even breathe. All you had was sound, sometimes muffled and sometimes clear, encapsulated by repetitive clicks that bounced around the walls of your skull. Splashing, cold water running over your skin, heavy bones, gasping — gasping as your lips felt air. It was so sudden, the wind hiemal where it whipped at you harshly, and you sputtered and coughed and choked. Oxygen. Oxygen had never been so good to you before.

A hand rubbed at your back, icy enough it cut through the numbness of everything else and brought you back to yourself. Hot tears dripped off the bridge of your nose, dotting the sand beneath you. Your chest heaved, your lungs burned, yet each time you blinked the world became clearer. You were alive.

“Oh dear, you're shaking!”

Indeed, you were. You hadn't realised before. Teeth chattering and shivers wracking from your spine to the tips of your fingers, you couldn't find the strength to speak. The entire column of your throat convulsing just to let out a weak wheeze. You wanted to at least thank the woman who'd saved you.

Your eyelids drooped and when you managed to fight them open again, she was gone. There were ripples through the ocean surface that seemed removed from the storm's doing. You wondered if she'd dived in, but that would've been impossible.

You curled up, tired and so, so cold.

Frankly, by some miracle, you were warmer when you woke up. The daylight hit your face and you wriggled closer to its heat. A fire crackled beside you, roaring strong like it had been tended to the whole night just to ensure the storm didn't kill it. It took a lot of strength to haul yourself up, and then when you'd fully emerged from your sleepy stupor, you noticed you were dressed in completely different clothes. They were mismatched — a shirt over another shirt over a jumper — but they were dry, and layered with care.

“It's a glad thing that the weather stabilised.” Sitting on the shoreline was the woman from yesterday. You could see her clearly now that you weren't dying. “For a moment, I almost thought I'd lost you.”

She glanced at you with a smile, and it felt like your air had been stolen all over again. It dawned upon you then, enraptured by her crystalline amethyst orbs, and pointed teeth, that she wasn't human at all. You sniffled, inching closer wordlessly to confirm. There was an unnatural pallor and sheen to her skin and sure enough, the waves lapping at her waistline submerged a tail.

At your gawking, she laughed airily and flicked it above the water briefly. “Curious?” Her voice held a teasing lilt. “You can touch it if you want.”

“I can?” It's the first thing you say to her, and you notice how her eyes positively glow. She hums an affirmative, and brings her tail up again, urging you.

Against your fingers, it feels entirely smooth, and almost rubbery. You can tell the skin is thick when you press down slightly and there's no give. The end branches out into two flukes, a slightly darker grey than the rest of it.

“Are you…” you speak up, after a while of examining. You let your eyes trail up, and try not to focus much on the pretty curves of her chest now that her complete nakedness finally registers. “A dolphin?”

She seems taken aback by your question, blinking twice before her expression softens and she laughs again. The sound of it is really starting to grow on you. It's soothing.

“Something like that.” She answers, tucking a strand of platinum hair behind her ear. It's almost silver, mottled with minuscule specks of brown and blonde. The brackish waters must've caused the crimped waves, but it shined healthily. “Most people assume mermaid at first.”

“Mermaids are real?” Your brows raise in surprise.

“Well, they ought to be,” she grins, smacking your thigh lightly with her tail, “it'd be a shame to be constantly mistaken for something that doesn't exist, after all.”

“Yeah,” you agreed absently, looking out into the horizon with her, “I suppose, as a human, I wouldn't like being compared to a capybara…” You inhaled deeply. Some residual seawater from yesterday trickled in a warm stream from your ear. “Say, do you have a name?”

“Ophelia.”

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 2 years ago

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Clan of Three - Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Gunslinger and Past

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 5.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, massive angst, childhood memories, death, just a really sad chapter

------

Leaving Sorgan was a hard moment you felt actually happy there. You weren’t running from the Guild or the Empire able to live on some planet without fear but that soon quickly came to an end. The Razor Crest zooms through space barely avoiding blaster fire from a guild ship that had found you.

“Hand over the kids, Mando. I might let you live.” The bounty hunter says over the comlink as Mando dodges another bullet the ship spinning around making you dizzy. A blast hits the ship shaking it and loud alarms sound in the cockpit. “I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” The hunter says as Mando flies dangerously in your eyes to avoid more attacks and when they try ramming into you Mando drops the ship making the starship get into his view with a single shot and the ship explodes.

He huffs looking at the damage that he received, “That’s my line. Losing fuel…” The left engine was damaged and the right wouldn’t be enough to get them out of the system in case more bounty hunters arrived. He flips a switch the power shutting off the entire ship going dark your only light being the galaxy surrounding. Flipping the emergency power and looking over the holomap you see him punch in coordinates manually flying the ship until you appear to arrive at a desert planet.

“Where are we?” You ask Mando as you begin to enter the atmosphere the large plains of sands familiar to you, he doesn’t answer as a voice from the comlink cut through.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.” You feel your blood chill but your heart soars at the same time. Mos Eisley…that was a name you were familiar with, looking out of the window and seeing familiar structures of the planet you were born on. The dual suns shine through the windows…you must have been dreaming. You were home..you were on Tatooine. The ship lands and you’re already down the ladder ignoring Mando’s calls out for you. Your fist slams on the button on the ramp not even waiting for it to come all the way down jumping off your skin instantly warm from the dual sun something you were used to.

You walk out of the starport the loudness of the crowd fills you with nostalgia. Memories of walking through the streets looking for your next meal or a place to stay at to avoid the cold and any creature stalking at night. It was almost instinct to see a Rodian distracted at a stand selling goods, you flick your wrist and a basket holding items hit the ground spilling everyone. The owner begins to shout at the Rodian assuming he knocked it over who tries to explain distracted as you slip by your hands slick grabbing the pouch full of credits and disappear into the crowd. You smile holding the hefty bag of credits and attaching it to your belt, this felt normal..you were home. You see the cantina ahead entering the doors the place is pretty filled with aliens and some droids. Coming up to the bar sitting towards the side a droid who appears to be the bartender comes over.

“Um…some spotchka,” You say pulling out a credit from the bag you stole and sliding it across the table. Maker were you going to get kicked out cause you were underage that would be embarrassing. The droid just nods takes the money and produces a glass holding an arm out as spotchka pours from a nozzle, filling the glass nicely, and pulls away to tend to another customer. Nodding you hold the glass between your hands taking a small sip wincing slightly from the burn. You were never going to get used to that.

“Hey, droid, I'm a hunter. I'm lookin' for some work.” A familiar voice says and you freeze instantly putting your arm up so it blocks most of your face glancing over and seeing Mando standing on the other end of the bar speaking to the droid. You had to be kriffing kidding me.

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine.” The droid responds and you can hear Mando sigh his dislike of droids clear.

“I'm not looking for Guild work.” He says and the droid shakes its head,

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation.”

“Think again, tin can,” A voice behind you at the booths calls out and you see Mando look over as you busy yourself taking a sip of the drink. Your nerves make you take too big of a sip and you force yourself to swallow, the burn fills your throat not settling well with your stomach. Don’t you dare puke it up. “If you're looking for work, have a seat, my friend.” The man says and you hold a fist to your mouth trying to keep your face calm and hidden as you feel the Mandalorian you were quite familiar with walks past you.

“Name's Toro, Toro Calican. Come on, relax,” He introduces himself and you hear Mando sit down, “Picked up this Bounty Puck before I left the Mid Rim. Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she's been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

“I know the name,” Mando says as you listen in on the conversation your drink long forgotten as you were able to settle the churning in your gut.

“I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she's headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” Toro says and you hear Mando stand going to leave.

“Well, good luck with that.” “Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Toro tries getting Mando to stay.

“How long you been with the Guild?” Mando asks and Toro responds long enough, “Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won't make it past sunrise.” He warns him before you hear him turn to leave again.

“This is my first job. You can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild,” He begs Mando, “I can't do it alone.” Silence comes from the two men.

“Meet me at Hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring two speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob.” Mando agrees and you hear something hit the wall fizzing.

“Don't worry, got it all memorized,” Toro nods and Mando keeps walking to the door and you glance at him before looking away. “Half an hour.” He says before leaving.

“Looks like you're stuck with me now, partner.” Toro cockily replies as the door to the cantina shuts behind Mando. You sigh wiping the sweat that was on your face from your nerves. You wait a few minutes sure he had already left before standing up. You have no idea how he didn’t notice it was you but you weren’t going to push further. Just head out of the cantina and figure out what you were going to do next, you went out the second door that was there. The sound of people on the streets is loud as you slip out now on a side street leading to the main one. Walking out right about to reach the main road when a hand grabs you by the collar pulling you into a small dead end. You reach for the knife in your belt swiping your arm out to strike your assailant in the chest when it comes in contact with a loud clang of metal. As one hand grabs your wrist twisting the knife out of your hand the other slams against your shoulder pushing you against the wall pining both of your arms as you get ready to scream and fight freezing seeing Mando glaring down at you.

“Get off me.” You struggle in his grip but his hands are heavy, not budging.

“You think it was smart running off? What if that Rodian noticed you stealing from him, or the man looking for a way into the guild finding out you are a highly valued bounty?” He says scolding you as you glare at him still trying to get him off you.

“That’s none of your concern…I’m home you don’t have to worry about me.” You spit back kicking him in the knee making him back off as you move to grab the knife that he gave you lying in the sand.

“Home? You were fighting to survive here to see the next day. What about your parents…do you have anyone you have here to call home?!” He says blocking your path from leaving the small dead end.

“This planet is all I have! I did it before and I can do it again!” You yell pointing your hand down to the ground beneath you…you had nothing…parents dead..the one man who actually looked after you somewhere on this planet that you had no idea how to get there. “Just leave. Take the child back to its home but this is mine…you’ve done your job Mando.” You say pulling the bag of credits from your belt and tossing it at him but he doesn’t catch it letting it hit his chest and falling to the ground, “Your payment for your service.”

“I don’t want your money.” He says and you scoff stepping towards him grabbing the bag,

“Not my money remember.” You try walking past him when his hand latches to your arm. “Let go of me Mando.” You say not looking at him as his hand tightens on your arm.

“Kid… let's just go back to the Crest.” He says and you try pulling your arm free but he holds strong.

“Mando let me go…” You could feel a fire bubbling in your stomach beginning to rise, “I don’t need you to look after me like some child. I don’t need you or anyone.” You spat pulling your arm again but it won’t break free.

“You deserve a better life than this,” He says trying to reason with you, “You and the kid are special something I’ve never seen bef-” “Get the hell off me Mando I swear to the maker!” Your voice is cold and he can feel the anger reaching its peak.

“Kid just listen-” “I said let go!” You shout ripping your arm free of his grasp with a strength he hadn’t expected you push your hand out and he’s sent flying back slamming into the wall a crack forming pinned there. He’s lucky he wasn’t badly hurt, the beskar protecting him. He looks at you shock hidden by his helmet but you could sense in, the feeling that covered you lightly like a gentle touch was weighing down on you. You drop your hand and he slumps free from the weight holding him down. He didn’t know what to say, it was the same thing he saw in the child with the mudhorn…and you during the escape of Nevarro and the battle on Sargon. He thought he had hit his head or the adrenaline of the fight had gotten to him but nothing was clouding his mind now. You slammed him into the wall without even touching him.

You step back feeling the weight on your chest making your breathing labored this feeling covered you almost painfully. You’re gone having darted out of the alley disappearing into the crowd of Mos Eisley before the Mandalorian could even get up. The day quickly passed as you traveled through Mos Eisley the familiar routes you used to take as a child before you found yourself outside an old building, the sunset of the dual suns a usually beautiful sight made your heartache. Boarded doors a building long out of use as your hand brushes away the dirt and grime covering the small plaque highlighting the door. Pulling the blade from your belt tracing the metal that was given to you. The pride you felt receiving it the trust you grew with him, how quickly it crumbled in days.

Slicing through the wood easily you move the boards aside using two hands to pry the door open squeezing in. Entering the dark home you spot a small lantern grabbing it seeing a bit more fuel as it turns on the light filling the home, a place you haven’t seen in years an empty home of memories. It was a small home, the living area and kitchen combined so most dinners were on the seats surrounding the small table in the living room. Entering further in the sounds of a child’s laughter and that of a mother and father’s rings clear in your head.

“Mama come on, Papa will be here soon!” A small child’s voice calls out rushing past you waiting by the door excitement in her eyes as a woman with similar features walks over.

“Patience Y/n…remember don’t jump him when he gets here..work was lon-” Your mother’s words fall on deaf ears the second the door opens revealing a man tired from a lengthy day of work is jumped by a small child.

“Papa!” You giggle wrapping your arms around his neck as he catches you pulling you up into the air your laughter growing louder as he spins you around.

“My daughter oh I missed you.” He grins hugging you back as your mother watches on lovingly before he walks over hugging her pressing a sweet kiss on her lips, “And I have missed you.” Your mother pulls you out of his arms putting you on the ground as you run off as he wraps his arms around her.

“A long day?” She asks and he sighs sagging slightly the smile he put on his face fading, “Not many ships came by…this blockade on the Outer Rim, it's stopping anyone coming in or out. People are getting desperate here.” He says. The empire’s blockade affected Tatooine deeply, with no open water and places to grow, most items like food came from trade. With this shortage, it was only time until grew rowdy and with a place filled with Tuskan raiders, bounty hunters, and anyone desperate for food. It was dangerous.

“Maybe you should ask to leave work early tomorrow, I grow worried each day when you come home late.” Your mother says stroking your father’s face as he nods silently. It was hard enough for two people to have enough food on the table but with a growing child, it was stretched thin. Your parents had sometime gone days without eating just to make sure you had food in your belly.

“Papa! Mama! Look at this trick I learned.” Your voice comes rushing out of the shared bedroom the three of you had holding a doll your mother made for you. The two watched you place the doll down in front of all of them stepping back. You hold your hand out your face scrunching up in concentration. They watch as the doll twitches before standing up on its legs, you move your hand slightly and the doll’s hand raises waving at them. You drop your hand and the doll falls back to being inanimate. You look at them with a wide smile ready for their response. Both of them look at each other silently communicating their fear...not of you but for you. They had found out you were force sensitive when you caused a ball to come towards you when you were only four. They had never seen anything like it but when they heard around in Tatooine rumors of a Jedi and learned of who they were and how similar it was describing the things you could do they quickly became fearful.

Your father kneels down in front of you a small smile on his face, “That’s very interesting Y/n but remember what we said,”

“Don’t use my powers I know, but I thought you would like it?” You say a sad tone in your voice that broke your parent’s hearts.

“Of course we do sweetie, your power is beautiful. We just need to be careful…people can’t know about this alright.” Your mother says coming towards you wiping the stray tears that weld up in your eyes. You nod sniffling to stop the tears, reaching down and grabbing your doll.

“Now let’s eat and you can tell me everything about your day my little womp rat!” Your father scoops you up in his arms tickling your sides as your squeals fill the room your father’s own bellowing laugh filling it.

A large bolt cuts through the air pausing what was meant to be a touching moment. Your father holds you in his arms as silence fills your home. Another loud pop fills the air again until it grows louder and multiple ones until a shout rips through the air outside that has you all freezing.

“Darling?” Your mother calls out stepping closer to you two as the loud pops in the air grow louder and louder until screams are filling the air.

“Mama…Papa? What’s happening?” You ask,

“Take Y/n into the room now lock the door behind you,” Your father passes you off to your mother’s arm and you see your father move to a drawer and he pulls out something cocking the item back.

“What about you-” “Just do it!” Your father yells back making you jump slightly in her arms. The shouting outside as loud booms filled the air only make you clutch your mother tighter.

“Papa?!” You cry out reaching your hand out as your mother turns rushing toward your room the door closing behind it, she puts you down as you look around in confusion. You see outside the window bright flashes of light. But it was night what was doing this?

“Quickly under the bed, and do not make a sound no matter what you hear.” She says holding your arms as you look around in fear tears filling your eyes, “No tears you must be strong and brave you understand.” She wipes the tears from your eyes as you nod clutching the doll between your hands. Your mother gives a smile trying to hide her sadness and fear. You crawl under the bed the gap small enough for you to fit that you didn’t even know to exist. You clutch your doll between your hands when you hear a loud noise coming from outside the room. You hear your father shouting before another large bang fills the air and it’s quiet. The sound of multiple footsteps grows close before the door is burst open and you hear your mother screaming out as other voices are yelling out hear. The sound of a fight makes you cover your ears before a loud bang makes you jump squeezing your eyes shut. It was a dream you were going to wake up and this would be over. Whoever was in your home tore apart the room and outside.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed under that bed your small hands clutching the doll until the night was surely over and the fighting that raged through the night had ended. An odd silence filled your home as you slowly shuffle under the bed when your witness your life crumble in front of you. You should have just stayed under that bed.

Your footsteps are slow, both your father's and your mother’s bodies were long removed only leaving the damaged home and a frightened child behind. The stains of their blood couldn’t seem to get out of the hardened sandstone. The home you had many happy memories had been stripped away from you in one night, entering your old room everything was the same nothing moved. It was as if the room…this whole house was frozen in memory, your foot makes contact with something, and looking down you see the small doll. Time and the weather had gotten to it practically a ball of rags. Bringing it up to your face it was withering away in your hand the smell stale but the only lasting memory of your childhood. When you were happy and what were you now?

A child alone once again.

Mando’s mind hadn’t been as focused as he would like working on this mission. He could’ve tracked you down easily but with his needing to leave for Fennec and what you said to him. He would give you space but what if space isn’t what you need? Did you really think you were happy here? He and Toro had captured the high-ranking assassin but since one of the speeder bikes had been damaged he was sent out to retrieve the ride Fennec used to travel. He returned to the spot to find Toro gone with a dead bounty hunter, her blood staining the sands. He had no choice but to return to Mos Eisley, he may have lost the credits but his mind was more focused on trying to get you back.

You were haunted by memories as you stayed in that abandoned home. The night had fallen long now hidden in your childhood home, the small lantern running on its last fuel. Seated at the small table in the space you would occupy as your seat with stolen food from your run-in at the cantina. A lonely dinner with empty chairs a home without love and laughter. The cold whispers of ghosts and lost memories drown you. What this meant to be your life, fighting to stay alive from bounty hunters and the empire that won’t stop coming after you. This was your decision you left them…you wanted to be alone.

A crackle fills the room and your hand instinctively reaches for your knife looking around for where the noise had come from when it came through again and you heard a voice.

“Took you long enough, Mando,” Toro’s voice rings out static and broken up, you look down hearing the voice coming from you. Your eyes widen seeing the comlink attached to the back of your belt. Grabbing it you listen in, “Looks like I'm calling the shots now. Huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em.” His voice sounds further away from Mando and you hear Mando sigh the sound of his blaster dropping on the ground.

“Cuff him. You’re a guild traitor, Mando. And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.” You hear a noise coming from the child making you freeze. This wasn’t your problem Mando was going to win as he always does. “Where’s the other one huh Mando, got her hiding somewhere,” Toro says.

“Just leave the kids alone you’re already going to get enough to bring me in,” Mando says, you hear Toro laugh and you hear another cry come from the child chilling your blood.

“Bringing you it won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary. Besides the bounty on those kids never said they had to be brought in alive.” The click of a blaster has you shouting out instantly unaware they could hear you on the other end.

“No!” Silence fills the air before you hear footsteps and something being grabbed,

“Now it’s not nice to listen in. Wherever you’re hiding give yourself up…or they all die starting with the kid.” His voice is rough before you hear the commlink fall to the ground and a loud crush and it’s silent. Your hand clutches the commlink…this wasn’t your business. You were alone now. Just walk away…do it.

“You must be strong and brave you understand.” Your mother’s voice rings clear in your head and you attach the link to your belt heading toward the door. You turn to look back at what you had called your home. Flashes of memories before fading away as you turn and leave.

You blend into the crowd a ghost passing by strangers. A brush of the wind as your feet carry you to the starport, the same port your father worked at. You slow down seeing a speeder bike outside recognizing the rifle of Mando’s attached to the back. Your hands move to the bike slowing down seeing a single blaster resting on the seat. Your hands grab the rifle pulling it over your back your hands tucking the blaster in your pants. There was only one way to come through the hangar and he would be waiting right there for you to arrive there. So you weren’t going to be coming through the front door. The wind blows through your hair, the hair on your skin raising as you stand multiple feet up in the air walking along the large roof of the port. Holding your hand out you close your eyes reaching out, the weight returns painful at first before becoming light to the touch gracing your skin. It stretches across everything around you before you sense the connection you gain so many weeks ago.

The child.

Footsteps light on the wind that no one, not even your Mandalorian notice your arrival from the roof, peering over you can see the Crest there, and in front of it is Toro holding the child as he looks around his gun trained to Mando and another woman. Sliding the rifle off your back aiming Toro, hit his hand or leg anything on the side not holding the child. Your finger presses on the trigger the bolt ringing through the air, the kickback sending you back and you fall through one of the holes in the roof. The bolt strikes right beside his foot and he whips around firing at the roof where you were as you are hidden behind a large crate. Your back pressed against the wall of the crate you trying to catch your breath, from the fall and the recoil of the strong weapon knocking the air from you. The rifle is still up on the roof your hands grab the blaster holding it between two hands.

“I know you’re here! Just come out and I won’t kill the kid or Mando.” Toro calls out and you peek from the crate seeing him facing away from you and looking around. Where you were at didn’t give you a good shot that didn’t hit that child. You turn back take a deep breath and look over at another crate you raise your hand flicking out and the other crate shifts slightly. Toro shoots at that as you rush but he had caught the glimpse of the blur of clothing in the darkness shooting at the ground in front of you making you stop in your place. Blasters pointed at each other and you see Mando with this other woman to the side.

“Drop the blaster.” He says and you keep your hands steady on the weapon.

“Let go of the child.” You say slowly taking a step forward when the gun pointed at you turns to press against the child making you freeze.

“I said drop it!” He yells and you nod holding a hand out while slowly kneeling to place the weapon on the sand.

“Your eyes kid!” Mando yells out and you instantly cover your eyes with an arm as a loud bang fills the port catching a bit of a flash of white light. Quickly adjust to the flash charger firing your gun as Toro’s arm makes him drop the child. He blindly shoots out and you dodge out of the way before firing another bolt striking him in the chest.

Standing up letting out the air held in your lungs as Mando freed from his binds and steps toward Toro.

“Where is it?” The woman asks and looks around before finding the child hidden behind a basket, picking him up, “There you are. Are you hiding from us? Huh? Look at you. That's all right. I know. That was really loud for your big old ears, wasn't it?” She coos over the child as Mando stands beside you. Your finger twitches and the rifle from the roof falls off it landing in your hands. Holding out the rifle and the blaster,

“I’m assuming you knew I was coming.” You say and he looks down at you the damn helmet hiding his emotions.

“No, not really, just a shot in the dark.” He says taking the rifle and slinging it across his back but not taking the blaster, “Keep it…it will keep you safe.” He says pushing the blaster back into your hands and you look down at the item gifted to you, just like the knife. The trust he had in you even though you rejected him. You left him.

Mando had accepted at that moment that you were going to leave. You proved to him you could protect yourself. He couldn’t ignore the small piece in his chest that primal urge to see a defenseless child wanting to protect. But he didn’t even know anything about you only that you’re a seventeen-year orphan from Tatooine who fought their entire life to only be chased by the empire and bounty hunters for things he wasn’t sure how to explain.

“So, I take it you didn't get paid?” Peli sighs him handing the child off to him, a hand holds out two bags of credits. Mando looks over seeing you holding Toro’s pouch and the one you had stolen earlier is still full of credits.

“Does that cover it?” You ask and Peli quickly takes the bags feeling the weight and nodding.

“Yeah. Yes, this is gonna cover you. All right, Pit Droids! Let's drag this outta here!” Peli shouts out clapping her hands and the small droids scurry out grabbing the body being to drag it away. Mando is still frozen why had you given away your credits if you were?

“Mando!” You call out to him and he turns seeing you standing on the ramp of the Crest holding onto the side looking at him, “What are you waiting for?” You give him a look and that springs the bounty hunter into motion as he follows after you closing the ramp of the Crest behind him. Entering the cockpit placing the child in his cradle seeing you strapped in your seat looking like you belong here and not staying on the planet. He settles in as well turning on the fixed ship the engines roaring as he begins to leave the spaceport of Mos Eisley.

“Thought this was your home?” It felt like a sensitive subject to bring up but you didn’t seem affected by it as you look out the window the dual suns you grew up to seeing rise and fall in the sky entering right over the horizon.

“I lost my home long ago…” You say your past is buried behind you. The childhood you desired to have old memories now and unrealistic dreams, “It’s time to let memories die.” The ship exits the atmosphere and you said goodbye to that chapter of your life. The home you grew up in, the planet you learned to survive in, the life you lost. All those memories are buried deep in the sands where your parents rot.

The only sign that you existed there before would be the small memorial for graves that were to never be filled. Three, a father, a mother, and their daughter. A small doll left as a childhood dies.

Goodbye, mama…papa.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #clan of three series #the mandalorian #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x teen!reader #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction

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drivinmeinsane · 1 year ago

Note

Colt is going to be the love of my life and I don't think you should be writing about him so soon. YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. You're probably just projecting harmful thoughts onto MY BABY like you do with Ken. Cut! It! Out! ✂️💥

The wonderful thing about liking characters that are in the public eye, everyone will have differing thoughts on those characters and the ways they wish to interact with their source material. I appreciate the message, it inspired me to assume even more things about Colt Seavers. <3

{ masterlist }

※ Summary: It's golden hour at the beach. You and Colt have some waves to catch.

※ Rating: T for suggestive remarks.

※ Word count: 609

“I can carry my own board,” you protest as you watch your companion begin sliding the epoxied piece of polyurethane from the bed of his lifted truck. Colt pauses to look at you, an easy smile on his face. The sand is cool under your feet. The entire beach is awash in a golden hour glow. It was bordering on being too cold to be riding waves, but that wasn’t enough to make the stuntman hesitate. He lived for pushing the limits. “I’ll be all weirdly lopsided if I don’t,” he jokes, dramatically tipping to the side under the weight of his surfboard that he’s already tucked underneath one arm. You roll your eyes at him, but drop it. He’s too stubborn to argue with when he gets it in his head that he wants to do something nice for you. You latch the truck’s tailgate for him once he has both boards in his possession. The two of you start off towards the lapping ocean. This section of the beach is deserted, it’s only you and Colt out here. Even the gulls were absent, off harassing visitors on the more populated stretches of sand. “You think we’ll be lucky enough to see Bruce this time?” He asks over his shoulder. He turns just enough that you can see the laughter lines crinkle around his eyes at his own commentary. “Only you would be excited by the idea of getting eaten by an oversized fish.” “I mean... whose idea of a good time doesn’t involve someone getting eaten?” He quips in response, tone flirty. You know that if the two of you were facing each other, he would have dragged his graze slowly up your body to further the remark. Torn between embarrassed and exasperated, you briefly cover your face with your hands. They do absolutely nothing to muffle your groan. You hear Colt chuckle when he sees your reaction out of the corner of his eye. He really could be the most insufferable person alive, but damn, if you didn’t love him all the same. The water is cold as the waves push over your feet. You hiss at the sensation, but take your surfboard from Colt all the same. You both lean down to secure your ankle tethers. Upon straightening back up, Colt squeezes your shoulder. His hand is hot on your bare skin and you lean into his touch, chasing the warmth. “Ready?” You ask him. “I was born ready,” and with that, you’re both plunging into the water. You shout encouragements at each other as you attempt to maneuver through the ocean. During one particular effort to crest a wave, Colt wipes out spectacularly. He somersaults through the air with a shrill shriek before he hits the water. You laugh so hard about it that you lose balance and pitch headfirst into the waves yourself. He’s right there when you resurface, hair plastered to his forehead and sitting on his surfboard with a sheepish grin spread across his face. He watches while you pull yourself back onto your own board. He paddles closer, until your knees are brushing. “Hey,” he says, leaning in. “Hey yourself,” you answer, closing the distance. He cradles the side of your face with one large hand. His thumb makes slow passes over your cheekbone, caressing. You allow yourself to get lost in the firm press of his mouth against yours, the taste of salt on his lips, and the warmth of his body. If Colt’s favorite fictional shark were to pull you down underneath the water right now, you think you would die happy having been loved by this man.

#the fall guy (2024)#the fall guy #the fall guy fanfic #colt seavers #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers fanfic #my drabbles #from you #my posts #my work

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wallwriterstuff · 7 months ago

Text

Part 3: Dirty Laundry ||Fosterdad!John Price x Teen!Simon Riley||

Warnings: Mentions of child neglect and abuse. Mentions of police investigations. Mentions of the foster care system. Explicit description of PTSD and childhood trauma.

Words: 3118

Summary: Sometimes, trauma bleeds through the well crafted exterior of even the toughest souls. It festers and rots a person from the inside out, staining everything it touches, and Simon can't quite clean the stains in time before John finds them.

<- Previous Part: The Yes Basket Part 4: Paint Over The Cracks ->

It’s warm.

Too warm.

Constricting.

An arm around his throat and the cold metal of a barrel pressed to his temple.

The pressure’s what wakes him, and John quietly curses at Riley, who has managed to sneak in and drape himself atop him, creating the pressure that’s disturbed his sleep. The German Shepherd whines and John sighs, scratching behind his ear lightly.

“You to eh boy? Never can shake ‘em…” he murmured. For a moment, John stares at the ceiling, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline of the moment and breathe through the heaviness so many old ghosts leave behind. They put more pressure on his chest than Riley’s furry form ever could. It takes Price a long moment to realise that the rumbling he can hear isn’t actually his mind playing tricks on him. There’s no APC’s here rattling across dessert sands or cargo planes building up to take off. What this quiet suburban neighbourhood does have, though, is a laundry room in each house. A laundry room that sits right beneath his bedroom and vibrates the floorboards.

With a grunt, John heaves himself upright and reaches for his prosthetic. Riley waits patiently, head tilted and tail wagging slowly like a pendulum. With his leg on, John gives it a quick test as he pushes to stand, grunts at the initial phantom pain he can never quite get rid of, and then begins to hobble his way downstairs, clicking on lights as he goes. He hits the bottom step of the stairs, hand running over his face to stifle a yawn as he heads through the kitchen and into the laundry room just behind. The washing machine door is open, the glass is wet, and the smell of soap wafting strongly off of the lingering bubbles suggested that whoever had used it had used one too many pods. It’s the dryer that’s making the rumbling noise as it tumbles about what appears to be a sheet. John frowns, squinting in confusion, and then he sighs.

“You’re not in trouble Simon, come on out.” He can’t see the boy anywhere and he moves like a ghost, he may have already snuck back to bed for all he knows, but he’s the only other person in the house who could be doing a wash at…

Fucking Christ, it’s 3AM John internally groans at the time and makes sure to take a good look around the laundry room and the kitchen before he slowly ambles back upstairs. Simon’s door is closed, of course and John pauses briefly on the other side of the wood as he tries to figure out what’s happened. Maybe the boys finally decided to wash some of the things in that binbag? John hadn’t pushed it, but he’d been a bit more vocal about good hygiene this week since Simon hadn’t changed his clothes in the 3 weeks he’d been living with him. Had that unnerved him? Pushed him to clean the clothes himself? Was it that whatever fascination with cleaning himself Simon had had now transferred to cleaning his possessions to? John knocked at the sound of shuffling behind the door, his brows furrowed. The shuffling immediately stopped. The only sounds John could hear being the faint rush of traffic along the road as Old Mike came home from a late shift again, the creaking of expanding and contracting pipes of his house, and the loaded silence of a boy who didn’t want to be caught doing what he shouldn’t.

John knocked again.

Simon barely cracked the door the second time, glacial eyes darting rapidly over John’s face, watching even more astutely than usual. They were rough as tree bark as they scraped over his soul and John had to wander what had the boy’s hackles raised.

“You need any help with your laundry, Simon?” he asked. The non-judgemental offer was left hanging in the air between them, and John let the boy scrutinise him and his intentions from head to toe.

“No.” Simon’s answer is as blunt as ever, but there’s a slightly terse edge to his voice that’s new, an underlying tension in his tone that set John’s bullshit buzzer whirring. John sighed, rubbed at his eyes and sniffed a bit to clear the early morning grogginess from his sinuses, then paused. The stench from Simon’s room was near revolting and he couldn’t stop the way his nose wrinkled.

“Jesus kid, let me in.” John said with a frown.

“No!” Simon was adamant now, lips twisting into half a snarl as he bared his teeth and puffed his chest, doing his best impression of a predator even as his eyes showed he was really feeling like prey. John looked him over for a moment, keeping his prosthetic in the doorway so that Simon couldn’t close the door on him, or at least, couldn’t hurt him if he tried to force it shut.

“Simon-“

“I have a right to privacy.” Simon had never spoken so much in all the time he’d been with him. John nodded his head slowly, taking a steadying breath and keeping his expression calm and neutral, even as his heart waged war in his chest.

“You do have a right to privacy, and you have a-“

“Then fuck off old man.” John doesn’t flinch in the face of the acid Simon spits. The boy’s shaking, and it isn’t from rage. He’s seen plenty of angry children, seen plenty of hurt and scared ones to. He won’t meet fire with fire and burn his house down.

“You also have a right to an adequate standard of living and to experience the best possible health,” John continued calmly, “And you have a right to ensure that I, as an adult in your life, makes decisions in your best interest. Now you’re a smart lad; if you were me, smelling what I can smell right now, would you say I’m acting in your best interest if I just go back to bed?” he let’s the question hang in the air for as long as needed, watches Simon grapple with the logic of his answer and his own fear. The smell takes him back to times he’s been stuck behind enemy lines in the black, moving through shantytowns where people don’t have the means to keep clean or rescuing PoWs from dank cells with no drainage or ventilation. It’s the smell of the hopeless and the damned. Except, Simon is neither, not in his house, John won’t let him be.

“I – I can clean it. I’m cleaning it.” He’s still trying to rationalise, still trying to find a way out. John doesn’t want him to feel cornered but for the sake of the boy’s health he can’t let this one go. He knows the smell now, can pick apart what’s the stench of old neglect in the binbag and the odour of current trauma. He understands why Simon’s been showering so much now, realises that this must have been going on for weeks before he noticed. He keeps his voice gentle, not accusing in anyway, doesn’t even force eye contact. He needs to praise the effort, prove he’s working with him, not against him.

“You’re doing a great job, the sheets’ll be dry soon…but maybe I can help you swap the mattress out so they can go back on a clean bed, yeah?” John’s suggestion is met with stone cold silence that drags for an infinite stretch of time. Simon’s not even able to look at him, and John can understand why. The boy prides himself on control so losing control of his bladder is more than embarrassing, and the way he’s acting makes John suspects it was a punishable offence in his former home. He’s never seen the boy be anything other than pale, but his cheeks are burning a fierce shade of pink now as he struggles to breathe properly. John’s not sure if it’s panic, the smell, or a mix of both, but Simon’s so beyond rational thought that he almost falls into a stupor as he stumbles back to let him in.

There’s a wash basin on the floor from the kitchen, Fairy Liquid sitting nearby to and even a bottle of lemon juice. Simon’s got a phone open to a cleaning article and sploshes of soapy water all over the hardwood as he’s desperately tried to scrub his mattress clean. John feels a deep swelling of sympathy, staring in mute horror at the soaked and stained mattress, eyes trailing to the open window fluttering curtains in the breeze like white flags. Simon can’t talk, but his body is coiled to spring like a rattle snake, one wrong move pulling the trigger to a gun he can’t control. They’re at the edge of a precipice now, and one small nudge could rob Simon of all rational thought and send him into a full on meltdown. John’s not just in his space but he’s bearing witness to a weakness, one he could exploit. He needs to prove he won’t. Simon won’t believe any of the evidence he lays out before him for a long time either way, but John knows he has to start somewhere.

“I say we move you into the spare room tonight, get a proper night’s sleep, and tomorrow we’ll deal with the mattress.” John’s suggestion is quiet, soft. Simon can’t seem to lift his gaze from the floor, finding the knots in the wood to be the most interesting thing in the room. The smell of stale urine is assaulting John’s nose, burning the nasal cavity, and his stomach twists to know Simon’s been sleeping in all this mess right under his nose for perhaps the entirety of the time he’s lived here. Seeing no response is incoming, John goes to one knee, makes himself small, tries to meet Simon’s gaze from below. The boy doesn’t shut his eyes, no he’d rather have a chance at seeing whatever’s coming John thinks, but he does turn his head immediately to keep avoiding John’s eyes.

“Simon, I’m not angry. Look at my face. Do I look upset? It’s okay, lad. It happens.” John thinks better of reaching for him. Simon still doesn’t respond. “What’s going to happen now, is that we’re going to get you fresh sheets, and move you into the room just across from mine. You can sleep in a clean bed, and tomorrow morning-“

“I’ll just piss it again.” The boy’s voice shakes, as if the confession takes physical effort to squeeze its way out of his throat. John is quiet for a moment, keeps his voice non-judgemental. The atmosphere in the room is charged and he feels like one small spark could ignite the gasoline he’s swimming in. Everything smells and burns and John’s angry, so, so furious, that somebody has broken this boy so badly. He can’t let Simon see that anger though, he’ll think it’s directed at him.

“This happens more than once in a night?” John asks. Simon clenches and unclenches his fists, manages a jerky nod.

“S-sometimes.” He stutters. John gives another slow nod.

“There’s things we can buy to help.” He promises softly.

“I’m not wearing fucking nappies.” Simon wipes furiously at his eyes, the embarrassment and anger leaking through his eyes as it overwhelms him. It’s the proof that’s upset him so much, John thinks. He can no longer hide the physical evidence that things are not okay, were never okay, and he can’t hold the demons at bay all the time, however much he gives the impression he can. The boy with eyes that would make Satan shiver can only do so much, hold on for so long, before he to drowns in the hellfire of his life. Simon likes to make a show of dealing with it, pretending things are fine, but John’s bore witness to the fact it’s not, and that’s set off all of Simon’s alarms. How long had he had to pretend to keep Tommy safe? His mother too maybe. Had Simon always fell into the role of protector perhaps? Keep anyone from suspecting things were going wrong, keep the family together. But they’re already broken up, aren’t they? John shakes the thoughts off, it’s best not to rationalise someone else’s trauma, especially with only half the story.

John shakes his head, “Of course not. There’s pads we can put on top of the mattress, you just throw them away and put a fresh one on if you need to. Some brands do pants and underwear liners. We can buy some waterproof mattress covers to. It’s something we can mention to the doctor, when we go to see them, there’s tablets they can prescribe. We have options to try alright?” John waits with baited breath to see if Simon will take any of the options available, will help him choose, work together with him as opposed to try and go it alone. Simon doesn’t say anything; he’s so busy trying to get a grip of himself and his emotions he can’t form any sort of answer it seems. John can’t imagine being in his shoes, how mortifying it must be for a man whose essentially a stranger to bear witness to this moment, a moment he strongly suspects he’s been punished for a lot which has only contributed to Simon’s desperation to hide this side effect of the trauma he’s experienced.

He seems to work on autopilot when he helps John to make up a fresh bed, flinching from him if he accidentally gets within touching distance. He isn’t surprised when Simon goes back to the binbag, but instead of bringing the whole thing, he rummages through it to find only one item. The hoodie is definitely far too small for him, a horrific bottle green colour that makes his already pale skin look sickly in comparison. It smells of that lingering scent of cigarettes still, even has some burn holes in it. John doesn’t comment on it and lets Simon keep the comfort item close. He gives him one last chance to confide in him before he leaves to go back to his own room.

“You need anything else before you turn in?” his offer is met by an immediate headshake, and John knows instinctually that Simon’s at his limit, that the kindness John has met him with tonight is going to keep the boy awake and shaking until sun rise can chase away the memory of it. “Alright then, try get some sleep yeah?” John gives him a slight nod as he shuts the door behind him and walks back to his room. He shuts the door behind him and goes through the motions of taking off his leg, but he can’t bring himself to get into bed somehow. He rests his head in his hands and takes a deep, steadying breath, finally letting his own tears fall as he grieves on the boy’s behalf.

Nobody ever said his job was easy.

His heart hurts and he’s filled with such a visceral rage it makes his teeth grind. To have traumatised a boy so thoroughly he can’t stop himself from wetting the bed at four-fucking-teen is more than criminal - John’s hunted people down for less before. Simon doesn’t need his anger though. He needs consistency, calm, support, and care. John inhales deeply and exhales in a rush, trying to force out all the negative emotions he’s feeling so that Simon get’s nothing but his best when he sees him tomorrow.

Simon deserves his best.

It only keeps getting worse.

Simon’s throwing a tennis ball for Riley in the backyard. He hasn’t spoken to him since last night and when John answers the phone he’s tired, beyond tired. He doubted either of them slept anymore after their 3AM meet up.

“Kate…give me good news.” He sighs.

“Alright. We’ve got him signed up at your GP and they’ve given you one of tomorrow’s emergency appointments. 10:20AM.” Kate Laswell delivers the news perfunctorily, with almost too much nonchalance. John knows better than to believe that’s the end of it.

“There’s a but coming, isn’t there?” he asks. Kate is too quiet for a long moment and John readjusts his position, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can go back to spreading mustard on his sandwich.

“He can’t see Tom.” Kate’s voice feels like a falling gavel in a courtroom. Simon’s not spoken of his brother much, but John gets the impression that it wasn’t his own hoodie he was clutching for comfort last night. He knows deep in his bones that this news won’t go over well with Simon.

“Can I at least give him a reason why? How the fuck do you want me to explain that to him?” John asks finally, voice a little bit clipped.

“You can’t. The thing’s Tom’s disclosed are vile, John. There’s a police investigation and all sorts opening, so right now, no visits. I’ve got to arrange a time and a date with you for the police to come interview Simon. Frankly, if what the kid’s been saying is true, it’ll do Simon better to not have contact with him at all.” Kate sounds just as tired as he feels and he can almost imagine the woman sitting in her office, rubbing her forehead to chase off a pounding headache. John puts down the knife in his hand and shifts it to his phone, gripping it tight and pushing it harder against his ear like he might catch a whisper of better news if he just holds it close enough.

“Kate I need something go off of here. The kids pissing the bed and got more bruises than a prisoner of war. What am I dealing with here?” he asks, frustration colouring his tone.

“Trauma, John. You’re dealing with trauma. It’s nothing new. All the kids coming to you are traumatised. This one just needs to be handled with more care than most. If you can’t handle that let me know and I’ll remove him now.” Her tone rings with finality and John flinches, feeling like he’s been sucker punched.

“No,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “He’s had enough upheaval…I’ll figure out a way to tell him if he asks. Thanks for sorting the doc’s.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else?”

“No.” John grunts out a reply before he can say something he might regret.

“Great. I’ll be in touch to arrange a time to visit Simon.” She hangs up without a goodbye, again, and once more John is left stumbling in the dark for a way to help Simon. He’s starting to feel like the only one in the world who wants to.

#call of duty #captain john price #cod modern warfare #foster carer john price #simon 'ghost' riley #teen!ghost #fosterdad!john price x teen!ghost #cod mw #cod mw price #cod mw ghost #foster carer au #tw childhood trauma #tw trauma #I told you simon had to get sadder #I promise the next part will be nicer #more happy #as happy as a traumatised teen and his foster dad can be anyway

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